


Vengeance in Blue

by FungusWitch



Category: Bleach
Genre: Complete, F/M, Hints of Fluff, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Nnoitra Shittiness, Nnoitra being an asshole, Non-Graphic Violence, Purring, Reader-Insert, Smut, Snifter of kitty!Grimmjow, also a smidge of angst, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FungusWitch/pseuds/FungusWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's a poor pet to do when she's fallen out of the King's favour in his den of wolves? Smut with barely a whiff of plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't even ask about the title. It made me giggle, and so it stays.

Your usual guard was nowhere to be seen. Nnoitra, tall, spindly and sinister, leaned against the closest wall. His smile was a sharp blade, ready to cut you to pieces. There was a rushing noise in your ears, like wind or electrical static. You stared at a spot on the wall as certain discrepancies and doubts clicked into place, Nnoitra’s nasty words the last piece of the puzzle.

‘ _He’s got more interesting toys to play with now, pet-sama._ ’

You tasted something sour in the back of your throat. Bile. Nnoitra laughed in disgust as you staggered from the room to be violently sick. You cleaned your mouth and face with a little of the precious water, not caring what you wasted. Spitting out a mouthful, as though it could wash out the taste, you turned to the lanky Espada in the doorway.

'Where is he, Gilga?' You didn't feel like sparing the Quinto Espada any courtesy. Not now.

'Sitting atop his mighty throne.' Nnoitra sneered down at you. 'Are you going to go and scream at him? I think I'll come and watch.'

You ignored his glee. You had to see Sosuke. Had to know the truth. Endless white halls with white floors; it was only muscle memory that brought you back to the throne room, followed by your lanky, grinning shadow. Your mind was in no state to lead you. The throne was a monolith in the cavernous room. And there, seated at his ease, Sosuke.

He was in discussion with Gin Ichimaru, that smirking, slithering snake of a man who made chills run down your spine. You'd always despised each other, which only made your stomach drop further when his smile widened at the sight of you. Whatever made Gin happy only made you less so. You tore your eyes away from him and looked up at Sosuke.

He looked back. Cool. Impassive. Superior. Anxiety twisted in your stomach until you thought you might vomit again. You swallowed, mouth dry, tongue heavy.

'Is it true?' you asked, voice shamefully thin and weak in that echoing chamber. 'You have someone else?' You loathed the way your voice cracked on the last word. All around, nothing but sneering faces. A small part of your mind, long supressed before now, screamed at you to run. _Run_. Nnoitra and Gin were the first of the wolves that would hound you now. 'Well, Sosuke?'

Aizen leaned forward, chin braced on his hand. His reiatsu swarmed around you like a cloud of electricity. In the past, exciting. Now, smothering, threatening to crush you. 'You will address me as 'Aizen-sama'.'

'A-Aizen-sama,' you bit out, hands curling into fists at your sides. You were no fool. Petty displays of defiance would probably get you killed. 'Is it true,' you tried again, 'that you have another...' _Idiot. Lovesick moron. Walking fuck-toy_. Your brain provided scathing suggestions, for the thing you now saw you were. His toy. His plaything to be discarded as soon as he grew tired. You bit your tongue and spat out the last word. 'Woman.'

'I do,' he said calmly. Reasonably. As though you were discussing the fucking _weather_. Not that Hueco Mundo had anything but cold, moonless nights. 'Surely you didn't presume I would be satisfied with you forever?' He said it as though it was the most understandable thing in the world.

You had presumed. You'd thought that every word panted in your ear, during the nights you'd spent in a naked tangle of limbs with him, was true. You thought he had brought you from Soul Society because he needed you. You'd been, in other words, a colossal fucking idiot. And, oh, didn't you know it now. 'I...I...' You didn't even know the end of that sentence.

Your veins ran ice-cold with fear, even as your eyes stung with hurt and humiliation. You were walking on thin, thin ice; without Aizen's favour, you were just a stray shinigami here. Practicality won out over jealousy. 'So, you're just going to have both of us?' you asked, your voice rough from the tightness of your throat.

That _bastard._

He smiled at you as though he could read the bitter thoughts straight from your mind. His eyes were dark and deep with amusement, and pitiless. 'I could, I suppose.' He looked to Gin. 'What do you think? A king can have many concubines.'

Gin gave an offhand shrug, sweeping his long fingers in your direction. 'Is it worth dealing with twice the hassle of their emotions?'

Aizen hummed in thought. His mouth turned up in a supercilious smile. 'You make a good point. But that leaves the question of what to do with her.'

Nnoitra's bracelets jingled as he loomed up behind you. Warm breath purled against the back of your neck as he spoke. 'I'll take her if you don't want her, Aizen-sama.'

Aizen chuckled. 'I didn't know you were so eager to lap up my leftovers, Nnoitra. But, I think not. I can't be seen to be showing favourites among my loyal followers.' Every word he spoke was laced with delicate sarcasm.

You felt your insides turn to stone. Not even the relief of being spared Nnoitra's attentions could stop the arctic shock locking you into place. You struggled to breathe. Everything was so white and distant and cold. The walls, the floor, your former lover. Moving like a robot, _like the toy he made you_ , you bowed at the waist, turned around, and left the throne room.

No-one tried to stop you.

'Bye-bye!' Gin called cheerfully at your retreating back.

It took until the end of the hall for the panic to set in. You were running. Your footfalls echoed off the bare walls, your heartbeat echoed off the dessicated hollow of your chest. You were breathing acid, your lungs burning by the time you skidded to a halt in a distant hall. You spun on your toes, checking that Nnoitra's reiatsu wasn't close by. Nor Syazel's. Nor any of the others who might have heard about your sudden fall from favour.

You were a walking target.

You needed someone who would leap at the chance to piss Aizen off. Someone who might trade your life for the information you held. You swiped a rough hand across your face. It was too soon to give in to tears. You had to survive first.

You closed your eyes and felt out blindly for that wild blue reiatsu. It flared like a sapphire flame just beyond your current location. Running, running, you strained toward it. It flared with alertness as your laboured breath no doubt reached his keen hearing.

You slammed to a stop against a broad back. He didn't bother to move, just allowed his body to act as your brake. You bounced off him and fell back to the floor, horribly winded.

He turned, his face crashing into a scowl. 'What do you want?' he snarled. He made no move to grab you. As far as he knew, you were still Aizen's little pet. 'Watch where the fuck you're going.'

'Grimmjow-' you rasped, sucking in great gulps of air. Months of idleness hadn't helped your fitness any. That had to change.

' _What_?' he demanded, shoving his hands in his pockets, possibly to avoid strangling you.

You struggled to your feet. He didn't offer a hand to help, of course. 'I...I need help.'

He gave you a perfect expression of disbelief. 'And what the fuck does that have to do with me, ____- _chan_?' The disrespect was nothing new. In fact, now it was refreshing.

'I need to get out of Hueco Mundo. _Now_.' You barely kept the panic out of your voice. You could feel the predators of this realm breathing down your neck. Grimmjow might be one of the worst, but he hated Aizen more than he hated you. Hate was something you could rely upon, since love was apparently about as solid as the desert sands outside. 'I know you can get me out without anyone seeing.'

He tilted his head like a curious cat. His lips peeled back from his teeth as he scented weakness. Electric blue eyes flashed, and then he had you pinned to the wall by your throat. His implacable hand held you there as he loomed close. ' _Why_ ,' he purred, 'would Aizen's little bitch be so desperate to get out of here? Is this some test from Aizen, huh? You gonna go running to him and tell him I was gonna disobey?'

Panic and slow strangulation made your voice shrill. 'I'll tell you where Kurosaki is!'

Grimmjow's feral growl faltered. The pressure of his hand let up, just a little. He pulled back, narrowing his eyes. 'Explain.'

You let go any last shred of pride, and babbled the whole story. 'He-he's got someone else. He doesn't want me anymore. I need...I need to get out of here! Help me and I'll tell you where Ichigo Kurosaki-'

He squeezed your neck. 'All right! Shut up and let me think.'

You fell silent and concentrated on breathing. He scowled at you as he thought it over. 'You're dead meat if you stay here.'

'Yeah.' It was only a matter of time before you ended up dead or tied to Nnoitra's bed or one of Syazel's examination tables. Assuming you weren't eaten by someone, or just crushed like a paper doll by Yammy first.

Grimmjow considered. 'He'll be pissed that you got out.'

You said nothing, not wanting to be choked again.

He sneered at you. 'It's not so much fun when you're not his little bitch, is it? You scared?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'Meet me by the gate in ten minutes. You're taking me straight to Kurosaki Ichigo, woman.' He pressed his thumb against your voicebox, hard. 'If you don't, I'll bring you right back.'

You nodded rapidly.

He let you go. You staggered away from him, coughing and rubbing your neck. He stalked away, hands in his pockets, and shot back over his shoulder, 'And don't get caught by the others. If you do, you're on your own.'

You stared at his departing back, feeling the first flicker of hope since Nnoitra's shadow had loomed over you an hour ago. You looked around. At what had been your home, and might now become your tomb if you didn't hurry.

You ran.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the smut.

The news was spreading. Nnoitra never could keep anything to himself. You felt it like a slow wind through the grass, inexorable ripples through the atmosphere of Las Noches. One after another, Hollow reiatsu signatures lighting up with interest, with the expectation of a hunt. They didn't have the go-ahead from their king yet, but it was only a matter of time. Fear and shinigami reiatsu made a potent, mouth-watering brew, and they'd been wanting to try this particular morsel for so long.

Some wouldn't come after you. Starrk, Ulquiorra, Halibel. They either didn't care or lacked the inherent bloodlust to get up and chase you down. They wouldn't lift a hand to help you, though. And there were plenty of their brethren that were more than happy to make you their next plaything.

Spots of spiritual pressure spread out from you in all directions, like will-o-the-wisps burning in the night. You crept down a long hall studded with windows on one side. No glass, just bars. This was a prison. It always had been. You'd just never noticed, too overwhelmed with Aizen. He liked to overwhelm your senses with his presence, make himself the centre of your world and shove everything else out of the way.

It was dizzying, how quickly things shifted to fill the empty place he'd just left. Anger. Fear. Jealousy. You despised yourself for the last, but damn it, you hated his new toy as much as you pitied her. Whoever she was.

You hadn't had the stomach to ask for that particular detail.

Five minutes.

You were counting the seconds off under your breath. It helped keep the panic at bay. At the corner of the hall, you poked your head around, checking the coast was clear. No-one there. You sighed in momentary relief.

Metal jingled.

You whipped around. Nnoitra, strolling toward you from the direction you'd just left, lifted his hand in a slow, sinister wave. He smiled and your guts turned to ice. ' _Going_ somewhere, pet-sama?'

_Shit._

How the fuck had you not sensed him? You could try to talk yourself out of it, and be dragged to his rooms for whatever he intended. You could try to fight, and die. The third, and only, option was to fling yourself around the corner and run hell for leather. Slamming against walls, careening around corners, hair in your eyes, sweat stinging your lips, with Nnoitra's menace following you.

The inexorable conclusion was that he would catch you, and he would cut you, and when he was done, he would kill you. The only thing that varied was how long before he grew bored of you. Your legs burned, your lungs heaved, your vision swarmed with black spots.

'I'm starting to get bored, sweetheart!' he called after you, his raucous voice echoing off the walls and chasing you down the corridors. A dozen Nnoitras yelling at you from every direction.

The corridor ended abruptly in a circular room. Pale green walls, puncuated by doors and torches that glowed a sullen red. You stumbled into the middle of the room. _The entrance._

Grimmjow. Where the hell was he? Had he already given up on you? You whirled around as you heard Nnoitra coming, cooing pet-names at you. A finger of cold ran down your spine. You couldn't stay here. You had to-

'Idiot,' snarled a voice close to your ear. You yelped, lashing out. Grimmjow caught your flailing arm in a crushing grip and dragged you closer. 'Can't you follow a simple fucking instruction? What's that pissant doing on your tail?'

All you could see was blue eyes and snarling teeth, but you could hear the approaching click of boots and jingling bracelets. Faster now. Nnoitra must have sensed Grimmjow's spiritual pressure. Hard not to. It was thick in the room like a sheet of sky-blue fire against your spiritual senses. 'Get us out of here,' you hissed, grabbing onto his jacket. 'Do it!'

' _Bitch_.'

He took a fistful of your clothes, jerked you against him. Slashed at the air with his free hand. Reality unfolded its edges like collapsing origami. Beyond, a void. _Descorrer_. Rough hands shoved you through.

Las Noches vanished like a bad dream. Your bones turned to water. You sagged, only to be brought up short by a sharp tug at your clothing. Harsh words growled into your ear.

'Tell me where Kurosaki is.' A pause. 'Or I'll leave you here.'

You looked up. Save Grimmjow, there was nothing around you. Emptiness unto infinity. He loomed out of that darkness more real than anything else. 'He's training,' you said, tightening your grip on his coat. 'With some ex-shinigami called the Vizard.'

He scowled down at you, processing that. He leered suddenly. 'You learn that while Aizen was ploughing you, huh?'

Outrage surged up in you like a flash of white heat. 'Don't mention that bastard,' you snapped.

His eyes flashed for a second, his hand rising to grasp your neck or hit you or both- He scoffed and shoved you away, spitting on what would have been the ground. 'I don't give a shit about your marital problems, woman. Where are these...Vizard?'

You glanced around, licking your lip nervously. 'Take me to Karakura town, and I'll show you.' You had a quick mind, even if your most recent actions suggested otherwise. You weren't stupid enough to give him everything he wanted when you were still in the Garganta. How easy it would be, for him to just leave you here...

'Tch.'

Blue sky, white clouds, and sunlight so strong and bright you thought you'd gone blind. The World of the Living. He'd brought you into a dank little alley, littered with bins and piles of refuse. It stank. You reached out and touched a grubby wall. The stone was coarse beneath your fingers. It felt so _real_ you could've cried.

The feral presence at your back reminded you of business to be concluded. You turned to look at him. 'A warehouse on the other side of town from here.' You closed your eyes for a moment, loathing yourself for what you were about to do. He probably wouldn't hurt her. He only wanted Kurosaki, who could hold his own. 'The Inoue girl knows where the barrier is. She can sense it.'

He scoffed. 'You can't?'

'They're ex-shinigami. They can hide from us. They know all our tricks.'

'Then how does Aizen know?'

'How does Aizen know anything?' you retorted. 'He probably already knows where we are. I have to get out of here. So, thanks and sayonara.' You'd have to go into hiding. You were as much an exile as Urahara, as the Vizards. And you didn't even have the claim of being wronged by Soul Society to redeem you. You were a traitor and a fool, and now you'd have to spend the rest of your days on the run-

Before you could go anywhere, his hand made a tight fist around your bicep. You stopped short, staring at him. 'What?'

'That's the only fucking thanks I get?'

You stared. 'You got your information! What more do you want?'

He yanked you closer. His eyes shaded darker as he looked down at your feet and dragged his gaze back up. Slow. His eyes met yours and you felt a responding pulse of shock through your body. His smile was slow, wide, and _feral._

'Maybe I want a taste of what _Aizen-sama_ has been keeping to himself all this time.'

Your eyes snapped wide open. His words thrummed between you like a plucked string, resonating through you, creating a tension in the air. Suddenly his grasp on your arm burned like a brand. Had you always been able to feel the heat radiating off him? You swallowed, struggling to think of a witty response to _that_ particular sentence.

'W- _what_?'

He lowered his head until his eyes were level with yours. They burned a brilliant, blinding blue. Bluer than the sky. His pupils expanded and seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat. 'You heard me.'

Your mouth was dry. 'What about Kurosaki?'

He shrugged a shoulder. 'He's training. Longer I wait, stronger he'll be. It's more fun that way.' He loomed closer, backing you into the alleyway wall. He slammed his elbows against it either side of your head, caging you in. Your view was restricted to his face. His sharp, wildly-beautiful, leering face. 'In the meantime, I've got Aizen's little pet to play with. And she owes me a _big_ favour.'

You pressed your hands against his chest to fend him off. Big mistake. Hard, bare muscle. He inhaled deeply, smile becoming crooked. 'You-you got your information...' you protested.

'Yeah, and now I want something else,' he said, blunt as a brick to the back of the head. He leaned so close his hair brushed against your forehead. You were almost nose-to-nose. 'Tell me you don't wanna get back at Aizen.'

You said nothing. Memories of Aizen's touch, his hands, his mouth, his gaze all over you, swarmed to the forefront of your mind. Your hands twitched against Grimmow's chest. Aizen was the only lover you'd ever had. You'd belonged to him, body and soul. Even now, it still felt like you were his territory, his _plaything_ , even discarded.

You met Grimmjow's hot stare. He saw your answer before you even moved. His eyes flared, teeth flashing in a leer. One second you were staring at each other, locked into a tableau, a strand of pale-blue hair dancing in your shared breathing space.

He crushed you against the wall in a kiss so hard and demanding it was more an act of violence than of passion. He had a fistful of your hair, his other hand grasping your jaw, keeping you exactly where he wanted. You scrabbled for a hold on him, getting two handfuls of white jacket. His teeth scored your bottom lip, stinging. The bone of his mask fragments scraped against your skin. Your lips parted. He thrust his tongue into your mouth, dominating, stroking, tasting. Your eyes nearly rolled back. You sagged against him only to shunted back into the wall. His hips ground into yours.

What was the human saying? _Rock and a hard place_.

He ripped his lips from yours and buried his head in your neck. You gasped for breath. It caught in your throat when teeth sunk into the meat of your shoulder, followed by an open-mouth, sloppy kiss. He lapped at your skin like he couldn't stop himself from tasting you. You dug your fingers into his shock of pale-blue hair, gripping tight. He grunted as it prickled his scalp and yanked at your clothes.

You pulled hard at his hair, jerking his head back. He glared, ready to ask what the fuck you thought you were doing.

'Not here,' you insisted. The last place you wanted to do this was a filthy alley where half the Espada might pop up any second. No matter how much you'd love Aizen to know you'd fucked his Sexta Espada.

A furious expression crossed his face, but the next moment the world vanished around you. Wind roared in your ears, and then reality jarred back into place with a lurch. _Sonido_? No matter. A mattress pressed against your back, Grimmjow pressed against your front, looming over you with a satisfied smirk on his face.

'Where is this?' you asked. The room was plain. A bed, a door. Bare walls, bare floor.

'Fuck if I know. Can't smell any humans.' He didn't care to explain himself. Where was he before you so rudely interrupted?

Ah, yes. Expensive silk tore in his careless hands. You grinned at him. Aizen liked you to be pristine at all times. Unmarked. Dressed in the most luxurious kimono. Shreds of embroidered silk scattered over the mattress, fluttering to the floor like rose petals from some strange Valentine's.

Grimmjow pulled back to get a look at what he'd discovered. His eyes dragged over you like a physical touch. They flashed blue as the centre of a flame, and twice as hot. 'Not bad, ____-chan,' he purred. He fucking _purred_. You swallowed hard. 'I see why he kept you for himself.' He traced a finger down your torso, drawing a line from your neck, between your breasts, to your navel.

'Shut up about him.' The cool air of the room raised goosebumps all over your skin. Your nipples furled tight, beginning to ache with anticipation. Your pulse throbbed hard.

Grimmjow's teeth snapped together an inch from your face. A low growl rumbled through his chest. ' _Don't_ tell me what to do, girl. I don't take orders from Aizen's pets.'

'I'm not his anymore,' you said, stunned by the sudden relief of those words. You weren't his. You didn't belong to him. You were becoming something else, barely five minutes from your old life, in a strange bedroom in the human world.

A change stole over Grimmjow's face. Vicious amusement. He leaned over you, bending his head low, eyes burning into you. 'Who d'you belong to, then?'

That wasn't a question you felt you had an answer to. You grimaced. 'Stop talking.'

' _Fuck you_.'

You wished he would, already.

Pleased at having the last word, he sucked at the thin skin of your throat, leaving bright red marks that vanished as blood flushed your skin. Heat radiated through you, spiralling out from where his mouth lingered. He dragged his calloused fingers up your sides, making you arch into him, pressing your breasts flat against his chest. He delved under the shredded halves of your former kimono and found the curve of your ass. He bit down on your shoulder at the same moment he squeezed your cheeks, hard, lifting you up from the bed. You yelped, half-offended by his crudeness. It only satisfied him all the more. His touch dipped between your thighs, discovering the burgeoning heat of your core. Your eyes fluttered shut and your knees opened wider, unashamedly needy. _Yes, touch me there…_

He snickered. 'You’re fucking soaked. Getting back at Aizen make you wet, does it?’

You said nothing. It wasn’t even Aizen, anymore. It was _him_. A bloodthirsty, cocky, savage, asshole of a Hollow. You wanted him all over you, holding you down and taking you and-

_Oh._ A long finger sunk into your scorching, slick core, right up to the knuckle. You stiffened in shock at the sudden invasion, clenching tight around him. He pumped the digit in and out, stroking, adding a second. His fingers were long, broad, stretching your tight inner walls. Need curled tight and hot in your abdomen. Your joints felt loose and weak, even more so when he deigned to kiss you again, invading your body twice over.

It was twisted. Revenge-fucking one of Aizen’s subordinates. Good. Your life was a twisted mess. You protested the loss when he yanked his fingers free of your body, bored of teasing you. Eyes locked on yours, he brought them up to his mouth and licked them clean, exactly like a cat, sucking his fingertips for a last, lingering taste. He grinned at your flushed face and wide eyes.

'You taste sweet,’ he drawled.

He kissed you, letting you taste yourself, sliding his tongue back into your mouth to push it against yours. You mewled against him, disgusted, utterly aroused. It was the last straw. He was done playing with his meal, as entertaining as it was. He tugged at the ties of his hakama, until they slithered down his hips, freeing his erection.

His length burned against your thigh, giving you a brief, starling hint at his size, before the blunt head nudged against your sensitive folds. You squirmed, restless with anticipation. He grabbed both your wrists in one hand and pinned them down above your head, fisting his cock and lining himself up. Your mouth dropped open as the first few inches pushed inside. You bit your swollen lower lip: he was bigger than you were used to, thicker. The veins on the underside of his cock dragged over your sweet spots as he worked himself inside you, inch by inch, until his hips lie flush with yours. You panted, wrists twisting against his hold. It felt as though he’d pushed all the air out of your body, replacing it with himself.

He groaned, leaning on his oustretched hand, suppressing a shiver. Grimmjow took all of three seconds to enjoy the your tight, pulsing heat before his hips drew back and surged forward, burying himself to the hilt. And again. Over and over. His length passed over a burning patch of nerves. No matter what angle he chose, he hit it every time. Your back bowed from the bed, a cry leaving your mouth.

_This_. This was what you needed. Stretched out, pinned down, your feet kicking uselessly against the chill air while he fucked you. Heat gathered at the base of your spine. You bit off a moan, not wanting to give into it just yet. He heard you anyway, and grinned, wild, unhinged.

The muscles in his abdomen bunched and flexed as he plunged in and out of of your core, filling you hard each time. You writhed underneath him, held down above and below, helpless. He liked it, he fucking liked it. You could see it in his expression. He loved the fact that Aizen’s -former- woman was underneath him, dishevelled and frantic with lust and frustrated desire. Hell, you liked it too.

You bucked against him, desperate, needing something you didn’t have breath to name. He fucked you hard, pounding your hips into the bed until you couldn’t feel your legs. Your moans grew higher, more urgent, then turned to shrieks of abandon as he rode you to, and through, your first orgasm. Your spine arched so hard you thought it might crack.

'That’s it,’ he said in condescending approval. 'Good _girl_ ,’ he punctuated that sentence with a violent thrust. He finally let your wrists go in favour of planting that hand hard between your breasts, pinning you by your sternum. Your freed hands flew to his hair, curling into the wild, silky mess and dragging his mouth down to yours. You needed him on you. You had to feel all of him.

All of his weight landed on you, pinning you between the soft sheets and hard muscle, crushing you in the most satisfying way possible. The shift in position pressed your clit against his pelvic bone, so every thrust made it tingle and burn. You struggled against his larger, heavier body, unable to escape the relentless pistoning of his hips as he wiped away every last claim Aizen might have made on you.

Pleasure wound tight in your body before it exploded, leaving you gasping and clinging to him, your nerves ablaze. Your inner muscles clenched tight around him, sucking and fluttering and pulsating. He growled at the sensation, the sound more animal than human. Hot breath rasped against your ear.

'Did he ever fuck you like this?’

You didn’t have the breath to answer. The second orgasm had been so close to the first. The come-down was difficult, especially as his pace grew more frantic, more punishing. You’d reached a point where any discomfort simple fuelled the fires of pleasure, the two blending seamlessly. Your nerves couldn’t tell the difference.

You pulled at his hair, whimpering. He grinned against your skin, pitiless. You hadn’t given him what he wanted. Not yet. He wanted to hear it, to fully know that he’d taken something away from the King of Hueco Mundo.

'Shit. _Grimmjow_ -’

There it was. He snarled as you pulled hard enough at his hair to jerk his head back, hissing in a combination of anger and approval. Sore and desperate, you leaned up and bit him on the neck, right where he’d done it to you. He jerked and grabbed your throat, forcing you down against the bed. 'You little animal,’ he said in savage delight, eyes lighting up.

He grunted as his thrusts grew faster, sloppy. His lips pulled back from his teeth, eyes narrowing to blue slits. He was all animal now, pants and growls and grunts. His reiatsu blazed. A final, fitful orgasm rolled through you as his body went stiff as board, muscles trembling. He dropped to his elbows, burying his face in your neck as his cock twitched and jumped inside, signalling his release.

Your legs fell limp against the mattress, trembling. Satisfaction loosened all your muscles. The soles of your feet tingled. Sighing, you ran your hands down his muscled back, avoiding the Hollow hole, and back up. He shivered and lifted his head. His expression was lazy, satisfied.

'Who’s your king now?’ he drawled, smirking.

'Oh, _shut up_.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look! Actual plot! 
> 
> Also, thank you very much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos! It means a lot and you're all wonderful. <3

Whoever this human was, they had the diet of a rabbit. If the minimalist rooms weren’t enough, their refrigerator was either arranged by Feng Shui or a tight wallet. You stared in consternation at a single tomato and a bottle of water that had, apparently, been filtered through all of Mount Fuji, if not the Buddha’s asshole. You took the bottle and stuffed it in the backpack you’d already nicked from the human’s closet. It was packed with clothes, whatever money you could lay your hands on, and food. Perhaps you should feel bad, stealing from a nameless human, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Being on the run from Soul Society and all of Hueco Mundo was pretty fucking desperate.

You walked - _limped_ \- back to the bedroom, tugging the t-shirt further down your hips. Pausing in the doorway, you glanced at the bed. The sheets were a rumpled mess; one of the pillows still had a dent. Your fingers brushed the edge of the pillow.

He’d lain there for all of five minutes before getting up and pulling his clothes straight, already spoiling for his fight. You hadn’t asked him to stay. There was no reason for him to. You plumped the pillow and pulled the sheets straight. They were dirty, but the human didn’t need it thrown in their face what you’d done in their bed. You were already robbing them.

You found a pair of shorts in a forgotten drawer, swung the backpack onto your shoulder, and cast a last look at the bed you’d shared with him.

On your way out the front door shut behind you with definitive finality.

* * *

_Las Noches, Hueco Mundo_

Nnoitra knew a secret and he wasn’t going to keep it.

Perhaps it was out of jealousy at having his fun curtailed, or perhaps it was because he couldn’t stand to see someone of a lower rank and weaker power -the _Sexta_ Espada- taking something he wanted. Especially a thing Aizen had coveted and denied him just moments ago. He’d been this close to catching that shinigami bitch… Either way, he strutted back to Aizen’s throne room, grinning like a demon.

_Aizen-sama’s not gonna be happy._

Raised voices and crushing reishi threatening a storm on the horizon. _Perfect._

‘I sincerely hope you’re wrong, Ulquiorra,’ said Aizen. ‘This is the second time he’s left of his own volition. I do not appreciate his…interference in the development of my plans. You will-’

‘Grimmjow’s taken your shinigami piece of ass with him, Aizen-sama,’ Nnoitra sang as he slouched into the chamber. He had the distinct pleasure of watching Aizen’s gaze snap towards him, a look of outraged disbelief crossing his face before he could mask it. Nnoitra didn’t bother stopping the slow smirk that took up half his face. ‘I guess he decided she was up for grabs now you’re finished with her,’ he went on, dripping vicious amusement into each word.

‘You know what they say about a woman scorned,’ said Gin from off to the side. His eyes opened a fraction, revealing a glint of icy blue. ‘And pillowtalk.’  

During this, Aizen had settled back against his throne, his eyes gone dark and thoughtful. Never a good expression on that man’s face. ‘She knows where Kurosaki is,’ he said in a voice both dangerous and soft. ‘Ulquiorra, take Yammy and bring them back.’

Ulquiorra turned his mournful face up to Aizen. ‘Alive?’      

Aizen gave a cool smirk. ‘Breathing, at least.’

Ulquiorra inclined his head a fraction. ‘And the other woman?’

'Unharmed.’

Nnoitra stalked forward. What a waste! Ulquiorra wouldn’t know a woman from his own asshole. And Aizen was sending him to get _two_? ‘You’re sending _him_ again?’ he demanded. ‘You let him have all the fun and he doesn’t even have the brains to enjoy it!’

‘Which is precisely why I send him,’ Aizen said, amused. ‘I shudder to think what would befall the poor humans if I let you loose on them.’

Nnoitra bared his teeth. Just on the edge of defiance. _Smug bastard_. ‘I wonder if Grimmjow even knows where to put what. He might just cut a whole and fuck that instead,’ he said scathingly.

Aizen’s hands clenched on the arms of his throne. The low-level hum of reishi in the room rose to an angry buzz, like a swarm of hornets. Nnoitra felt his bones grow heavier. His head seemed to weigh a ton. Teeth clenched, he bowed his neck, his sight obscured by hanging black hair. ‘I told you that you could not have her, Nnoitra. I don’t share my things with my subjects. That includes Grimmjow. If he touches my possessions, I will respond accordingly.’

Nnoitra spoke through gritted teeth. ‘ _Yes,_ Aizen-sama.’

* * *

_Urahara-shoten, Karakura Town_

Urahara-shoten lay tucked in the back of several high-rise buildings, with a small white van parked down its side alley. The doors were half open, the interior warm and inviting in the mid-afternoon chill. Raised voices drifted from within.

You stood at the mouth of an alley, clutching the straps of your backpack, eyes fixed on the store. The air was full of reishi, drifting out from the shop like air currents. The feel of it against your senses made you twitchy. Two children came running out from the shop, one chasing the other with a broom.

‘I told you not to re-stock the candy until I was done!’ yelled the red-haired boy, moving to whack the girl with the handle of the broom.

She didn’t dodge as it thwacked down on her head. ‘J-Jinta, I was told to do it by Urahara-san,’ she protested.

‘Excuse me,’ you called out. Your voice fell short, but the girl heard you nonetheless.

‘Who’re you?’ she asked, timid.

‘I need to speak to Urahara-san,’ you said. ‘Urgently.’

Jinta looked you over, far from impressed, lingering on the stolen clothes that sagged from your frame, your snarled hair (courtesy of Grimmjow), your tense posture. He read everything he needed to. ‘I’ll go ask if he wants to see you.’ No way was he going to just let you waltz into the store.

He dashed back inside, leaving you and the girl to stare at each other in silence. She gave off spiritual pressure. How curious. You almost opened your mouth to ask what she was, but that might open up the same line of questioning for you, too. ‘Shinigami’ didn’t really cover it anymore.

Jinta walked back out. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Go in.’

You muttered a thanks and went into the shop. Shelves lined the walls on either side, full of goods you recognised, others that must be new since you’d defected. Something thumped in the depths of the shop. A paper door at the rear opened.

‘I thought Jinta must have got the description wrong,’ said Urahara, stepping into the light. His usual hat was missing. He scratched at his scruffy blonde hair, looking you over. ‘You’re not looking so good these days, ____-san. Been fighting?’ He tapped his throat.

_What_? You bent down to check your reflection in the side of a pot. The neck of your t-shirt gaped, revealing small, dark bruises all over your throat. Fingerprints. And a round red blemish that still held the hint of teeth. _Grimmjow, you prick_. ‘Something like that,’ you said. ‘You’re not going to go running to our old acquaintances?’

‘Not yet.’ He sat down, pulling a fan from god-knows-where and wafting himself with it. You stood awkwardly in front of him, trapped under that lazy stare like a beetle in a jar. ‘He threw you to the dogs, huh?’

Your hands curled into fists. ‘Yes.’

Urahara nodded, tapping the fan against his chin. ‘How’d you escape?’ He didn’t bother to assume Aizen had just let you go. Neither of you was stupid enough to think he would let you go running off into the sunset with all that information in your head.

‘Bribed one of his discontented underlings,’ you said. You didn’t say with what, though Urahara’s gaze dropped back to your neck for a second. It was Urahara. He knew anyway. You folded your arms, refused to feel shame. The sex hadn’t been the bribe, anyway. Just the icing on the cake.

'And what brings you to me?’ He swept the fan around. 'I presume you need some supplies for your new life on the lam. They won’t come cheap. Especially not as your presence here is inviting Espada and angry shinigami right to my doorstep.’

'As if that’s anything new?’ you retorted. But you nodded. He was risking a lot by helping you. 'I’ve got money.’

Urahara waited.

'And information.’

He smiled, sat up straight, and folded his fan with an eager little _snap_. 'Let’s get down to business, shall we?’

* * *

_Alley, Karakura Town_

He was pretty damn sure half the bones in his body were broken. He could feel the tell-tale ache as they knitted themselves back together, the low-level buzz of his reiatsu under his skin as his body tried to repair itself. It was slow going. He could taste his own blood. He grinned at the darkening sky, his teeth red as rubies.

_Good fucking fight._

He would have won, he _should_ have won, if that skinny blond freak hadn’t appeared out of nowhere just when he was getting the upper-hand. Kurosaki had been _so pissed_ that he’d grabbed the human woman and dragged her across town like his own personal Kurosaki-compass. The fight had just been getting good.

What the fuck was a Vizard, anyway? Zanpakuto and a Hollow mask, but he’d stunk like a shinigami, not an Arrancar. Some kind of opposite, then, he mused. He coughed as one of his cracked ribs jabbed him in the lung, almost like a rebuke for laying there on his beaten ass. Too fucking bad, he didn’t feel like moving yet.

Whatever that guy was, he fought like a nasty bastard. Grimmjow wouldn’t mind taking another crack at him, to pay him back for interrupting his fight with Kurosaki. And just because his stupid face reminded him so much of Nnoitra. Same stupid fucking grin.

It wasn’t completely that asshole’s fault though. Just as he thought he might be able to get two victories in one day, a familiar pair of reiatsu signatures had appeared on the edge of his senses.

Ulquiorra and Yammy.

On any given day, Grimmjow knew he could take both of those dipshits, no matter what Ulquiorra’s Espada number was. But Aizen’s woman -the memory of her arching up underneath him in the throes of orgasm flickered brilliantly to the forefront of his mind- was still loose. And Aizen was not gonna be happy with Grimmjow for taking her. In both senses of the word.

He’d been forced to turn tail and run like a fucking pussy.

The second Aizen got wind that he’d fucked that woman, Grimmjow was dead. And in his current state, he wouldn’t even be able to put up a fight. The thought of not being able to conclude his fight with Kurosaki made him snarl.

He’d swallow his pride for now. He didn’t have long before they sensed his reiatsu and came to collect. How long had he been lying in the shitty alley? Almost like the one he’d brought the woman through this morning.

Her voice echoed from his memory. ’ _They’re ex-shinigami. They can hide from us. They know all our tricks.’_

Hide. He needed to hide. It raised his hackles, but he knew when he was beat. For the time being. The woman was a shinigami, as unbelievable as that was, having seen her swan around Las Noches in fancy kimono, guarded and pampered, answering Aizen’s every whim like some pathetic little lapdog. He gave a hoarse laugh, feeling his neck. _The little bitch can bite, though._

She knew shinigami tricks. She could probably hide him from his fellow Espada for a day or two. Maybe even patch up the clusterfuck that was his body right now.

It galled him to go to a shinigami for help, but at least she was even more pathetic than he was. She was on the run from all the Arrancar as well as her own kind. No-one to turn to. No-one who wouldn’t hand her over to either side.

Except him.

And that made her useful to him. She was some strange island between enemy and ally - _and a damn good fuck_ \- and right now, she was all he had.

Cursing and spitting blood into the already-growing puddle on the alley floor, he struggled to his feet. He took a moment, leaning against the wall, to re-orientate himself before he reached out with _Pesquisa_. Like candles in the dark, the signatures of spiritually-enhanced humans popped up all over town. And there were his fellow Espada, moving fast with another signature- His eyes snapped open.

The woman?

Yes. But not the one he was worried about. It was a human signature. Inoue.

He scowled. What the fuck were they up to, taking her? Whatever. Not his problem right now. He shut his eyes again, swept out his spiritual senses. Nothing.

The girl was hiding. He ground his teeth together, fighting down the urge to drive his fist through the alleyway wall. His reiatsu flared in anger. _Useless son of a-_

An echo of blue.

He stopped, turned half around, looking in the direction the pulse had come from. That was…it was _him_. His own spiritual essence, echoing back at him from the edge of town.

He grinned. _Didn’t bathe yet, little girl?_

She was still covered in his scent, his reiatsu, his…well, then. He felt a flicker of territorial, as well as tactical, satisfaction. She was still marked by him, and the flicker was so faint, only he would have sensed it. She was hiding, but you couldn’t hide from yourself.

He might just thank her for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut.

_Apartment, Karakura Town._

You sat cross-legged on the bed, an array of unusual items scattered in front of you. The backpack leaned against the wall, gutted of half its contents which were strewn across the floor. With a half-eaten protein-bar in one hand, and your new denreishinki in the other, you took stock.

You had a roof over your head. For now. Urahara, of course, owned a scattering of buildings throughout Karakura town for whatever his nefarious purposes were. You supposed he must rent some of them out to shinigami with extended stays in the World of the Living. This one, he’d assurred you, was unknown to Soul Society, so there was no risk of them banging down your door.

It was nothing special. A three room apartment: kitchen-living room, bedroom, bathroom. Almost empty of furniture and with only the little food you’d brought with you, but equipped with super-strong barriers, erected by Tessai, former member of the Kido Corps, and enhanced by devices of Urahara’s own invention. It was as close as you could get to a neutral safehouse. Even being inside the walls sheilded your reiatsu. As long as you were inside, no-one should be able to find you.

You were the proud new owner of a denreishinki, the cell-phone-like devices used by your fellow shinigami to communicate between Soul Society and the human world. And to track Hollows. Urahara had been reluctant to give you one, but you’d made it a condition of the deal.

_And_ you’d insisted that it not be linked to the Soul Society or traceable by them. Really the last thing you wanted was to get a phone call from Yamamoto. It was highly unlikely he’d want to gab about the good old days and welcome you back to Soul Society.

Instead, you had a nasty feeling the words ‘treason’, 'traitor’ and 'Sokyoku’ might be involved in _that_ particular conversation.

You opened the Hollow-tracking screen with the touch of a button and set it off to one side. There were several signatures moving around, but none coming close.

The black cloak was one of your best scores of the deal. A reiatsu-concealing cloak. He had one just like it himself, or so he’d said. His was probably nicer than yours, more powerful, better quality fabric, lined with fur, little pockets, that sort of thing. You snorted, and refolded the garment.

The rest was an assortment of odds and ends that had made the humble shopkeeper raise his eyebrows. Anything you thought might come in useful, really.

You were still in deep-shit, but you were moderately better equipped than when you’d fled Las Noches. Even if your semi-ally didn’t trust you, and-

The denreishinki bleeped.

Hollow. Closing in fast.

Panic froze you to the bed. Your hand reached down to clench around the hilt of a zanpakuto that wasn’t there. A zanpakuto that was still on a stand in your luxurious chambers in Las Noches. A zanpakuto you’d never see again.

You grabbed the blinking screen and stared at it, holding it so hard the plastic creaked. The Hollow was…coming up the stairs? Your head cranked around to stare through the open bedroom door, which showed directly down the short hall to the front door. It was one of them, come to take you back to Aizen-

A loud thump that rattled the slab of wood on its hinges. 'Open the fucking door!’

You dropped the denreishinki, your mouth falling open. _No fucking way_. You scrambled off the bed, tripping in the sheets in your haste. You stumbled down the hall. There was a spy-hole set in the door. You looked through it. Sure enough, a surly blue-haired Espada was on the other side.

Your hands shook as you fumbled through the latches. All seven of them. There was a rush of white kido light as the door shimmered, the barrier coming down. You opened the door, grabbed Grimmjow by the jacket, and yanked him through. You ignored his snarling as you slammed the door shut, snapping all the locks back in place. The light over the door pulsed once, and vanished. Re-sealed.

You turned to face him, fighting down disbelief and outrage. 'What the fuck are you doing here?’ you demanded.

He leaned against the wall and gave you a sharp grin. 'I thought you’d be glad to see me.’ You were about to snap back at his stupid remark when his smug demeanour faded. 'I ain’t got anywhere to go, thanks to you,’ he said. 'You think Aizen’s gonna be happy with me after I got you out?’

'No-one made you-’ you started, only to be cut off.

'Shut up,’ he growled. 'You didn’t fucking tell me these Vizards were shinigami with Hollow powers. It’s your fucking fault I’m like this.’ He loomed closer to you, lips pulling back from his teeth as his rage mounted. 'You still owe me, bitch.’

You were about to snarl that it was his own damn fault he went rushing headlong into danger, when you noticed the state of him. His white hakama and jacket were splattered with blood. His face and arms and chest were covered in scrapes and dirt. A large slash cut across his pectorals, crusted with blood so dark it looked black. He noticed you looking, and scowled.

'What are you going to do about it?’

It was so tempting to say 'Throw you out on your ass where you belong,’ but… He _had_ got you out. For his own selfish purposes, but the result was the same. You were free, somewhat safe. And you were the reason he couldn’t go back to Las Noches.

'Go sit on the bed,’ you snapped. Your knowledge of healing kido was rudimentary at best, but you could probably patch up the worst of his injuries. Or at least clean them so they healed better. The rest of it would have to be sorted out by whatever internal healing mechanism Arrancar had. The kitchen was mostly bare, but you found a washbasin and filled it with warm water. Disinfectant. Soap. Sponge. A spare sheet to rip up for bandages.

You entered the bedroom to find Grimmjow stark sitting naked on your bed, poking at your denreishinki. 'Put that down.’

He glared at you. 'You’re getting pretty fucking comfy ordering me around-’

'You got anywhere else to go?’ you asked tartly, plucking the device from his grasp and setting it to one side. 'How did you even find me? The shields here are meant to stop any reiatsu leaking out.’

He leered, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. His nose nudged against the crook of your elbow. 'You still smell like me. My reiatsu is all over you.’ He licked your skin, eyes flashing up to meet yours.

'Creep,’ you said, pointedly ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks, the breath caught in your throat. He was so very naked, and your mind kept providing helpful flashes of the last time you’d seen him like that. You took back your arm. 'Lie down.’

He draped his long, muscular body across your bed, arms behind his head. He almost hid the wince, but not quite. Broken ribs, probably. He was mending fast, but not that fast. You perched next to him, dunking the sponge in the hot water to distract yourself from how the heat radiated off him in slow waves. Your hand hesitated above his chest, water dripping onto his abdomen. His eyes met yours. He sneered. That was it. You bit the inside of your cheek. The sharp jab of pain stopped you from throwing the sponge in his face. Instead you cleaned his wounds, carefully edging around the slash over his chest. The scabbing was heavy, already healing. You wiped away dirt and dried blood from his broad arms and shoulders. The longer you worked, the more confident you became. Grudgingly, he relaxed, even letting you pull his hands toward you to clean off his knuckles.

His stare drifted off toward the wall. He lay silent, eyebrows clenched, eyes dark and irritated. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sulking.

You were dabbing at a nasty cut on his jaw when you asked, 'What happened?’

His eyes flicked to you, expression darkening. 'Some blond freak got in my way. Then little-dick fucker Ulquiorra started sniffing around. Looking for you, probably.’

Your hand froze, fear sheathing your veins in ice. Ulquiorra. 'He can’t find us here,’ you forced yourself to say. You almost believed it. You wiped along his jawbone. He closed one eye, tilting his head away from the wet sponge. 'The blond guy was probably Hirako. He was a taicho once.’

'Once?’

'He was hollowfied. By Aizen. Soul Society exiled him along with the rest of the Vizards.’

Grimmjow sat up, knocking the sponge out of your hand. 'Your lover-boy’s always getting in my fucking way.’ He grabbed the front of your t-shirt and jerked you forward. Snarling teeth and blazing blue eyes just centimetres from your face. 'Maybe I should give you back. He’ll be so busy with you he’ll leave me alone for a while. I can get to Kurosaki while he’s distracted.’

You swallowed. He was angry. He wouldn’t- Well, you didn’t know that. You could only hope he remembered that you were both in the same boat. You put a restraining hand on his wrist. 'Let me finish. There’s nothing to be done tonight. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.’

He glared at you for a seconds longer, then let your shirt go with a jerk. You weren’t shaking as you got to your feet to rip the sheet into bandages, but you wanted to. He was bigger, stronger, faster, nastier. And his reasons to be loyal to you were as thin and fragile as the strings of a spider’s web. He watched you the entire time with a dark, resentful stare. Just like an angry, injured beast of prey. He was unnervingly silent, holding out one of his arms to be bandaged, then letting you wrap the remainder around his chest. You dredged up what little you knew of healing kido and applied that too. He was breathing easier by the time you gave up. He didn’t say thank you. Of course not.

You cleared away the supplies and then there was nothing else to be done. His glare followed you to and from the room, until you were heading to the shower.

'Get over here.’

You turned. He kicked your hard-won supplies from Urahara off the bed and pointed at the spot beside him. You looked longingly at the doorway, then back. The hell did he want now? You approached, full of trepidation. Did he want you where he could see you? Idiot. Like you had anyone to turn him over to-

The second you set your knee on the bed to crawl toward him, he seized a fistful of your t-shirt (as if it wasn’t baggy enough) and dragged you over to him. You ended up sprawled in his naked lap. His very, very naked lap. His skin was still damp from the sponge-bath. Your hands slid across his slick abs as you scrambled for purchase. He grunted in discomfort, but chose to ignore it in favour of grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

'You’re a lot more trouble than you’re worth, no matter how good you fuck,’ he said. He looked at you for a long moment, his face free of grins or smirks or leers for once. Just a sullen scowl. 'I guess that’s all you’re good for.’

Your pride took the brunt of his insults, not that you had much left in you. He was right, in a way. You weren’t much good to him, or to anyone. Your life had been snatched up by Aizen, then thrown away, leaving you drifting in the middle of an ocean. An ocean in storm, with two prevailing winds fighting to tear you to pieces. Grimmjow, bastard that he was, was one of the few things you had to cling to.

He didn’t respect you. He didn’t like you. But he was there. And sometimes you could still taste Aizen in your mouth.

'I guess so.’

Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and slanted your mouth over his. He responded predictably. He’d be damned before he let you take the lead. There was a hand fisted in your hair and a domineering tongue in your mouth before you could say _Espada_. He moved your head around to his preference, tasting, taking. A hollowness grew in your stomach, like an ache or a presentiment of loss. You need to kill it, to fill it.

You took handfuls of pale blue hair and pulled, pulled him closer, your mouth urgent and hungry under his. He took that fierceness with greed and fed it back, his free hand jerking at your clothes to get at what lay underneath. He shoved you off his lap without warning, sending you sprawling onto your back, arms and legs akimbo. In half a second you were covered, weighed down, by a lot of hot, heavy male, your arms forced above your head, your legs pushed apart to make way for his grinding hips.

In the tumble and confusion, his lips were ripped from yours, giving you the chance to suck in a desperate breath. He was already fully hard, rubbing himself against you in a way that made your knees fold up and your thighs clench his waist. You grew wetter and hotter by the second, your breath hitching in your throat as he threatened to grind you into dust. Arms pinned, hips trapped, you could only reach him with your mouth. Giving up all pretence of a fight for dominance, you leaned your chin up to kiss under the left side of his jaw, opposite the remnants of his Hollow mask. He made an odd sound, a muted grunt, and jerked his chin away from your soft mouth.

'Cut it out,’ he groused, leaving your wrists in one hand. You had a dim realisation through a growing fog of need and pleasure. He was sensitive there. You arched your neck to reach again, and licked at his neck. He shunted his hips into you hard, driving a mewl from your throat, and pushed away from your upper torso, away from your teasing mouth. He didn’t want your soft kisses and clumsy seduction. He wanted you pinned and panting.

Your clothes suffered another casualty. He took both halves of your t-shirt and ripped it up the middle, giving himself access to your breasts which rose and fell hard with every ragged breath. He bent and snagged the tip of one in his mouth, pinching it between his teeth. Bolts of painful pleasure darted through you, only egged on by the constant pressure of his erection through the thin, damp fabric of your shorts. You struggled against his ever-present hold, put your feet flat on the mattress and pushed up hard against his weight.

'Fucking behave,’ he snarled at you. He shifted off you, grabbed your hips in rough hands, and flipped you over, leaving you face-down. Your heart thundered at the new position, anxiety and anticipation an intoxicating mix in your bloodstream. Your stomach fluttered at the new possibilities and at the stupidity of having your back to a predator. He shoved you further up until your head was near the pillow. He grabbed the waistline of your shorts and tugged.

Already too big for you, they were only too willing to slither down off your hips and expose your rear to him. There was a brief pause, nothing happening. Your eyes opened, and your mouth, ready to ask what was wrong, before a hard palm cracked against the curve of a cheek. You yelped, startled. A low, rumbling noise of approval and he grasped your ass in both hands, giving it a crude squeeze. You groaned as he lifted your hips, leaving you wagging your ass in the air like a bitch in heat. _Perfect_ , just how he wanted you.

'I think I like you better like this,’ he said, voice deep and heavy with lust. He pushed your legs further apart. Hot breath curled against the newly exposed folds of your sex, already slick and pink from his rough attentions. You stiffened in anticipation. He dragged his tongue over your slit. Your stomach clenched and your toes curled at the sudden rush of sensation. He lapped at you, devouring where earlier he’d only had a taste. You whimpered into the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets.

His tongue thrust inside. You made a choked noise, rolling your hips on the slick, invading muscle. He pulled back with a harsh laugh, turned on, amused as hell by your wanton need for him. It stirred up his ego, soothing a little of that stung pride. He leaned over your back, and licked a long trail straight up your spine. You arched, shuddering when he met the back of your neck. His hips came to lie flush with yours, a promise of what was to come. He grabbed your hair and tugged, pulling your head back so he could growl into your ear.

'You better scream for me this time.’

You bit your lip, nudging your ass back against him. ’ _Make me_.’

His laughter was wild, delighted by your defiance. He didn’t bother to warn you. The blunt head of his cock dragged across your slit as he lined himself up. Then he was pressing inside in one long, inexorable thrust. You groaned against the pillow, unable to do much more in your position than lie there and take it. All of it. He was in deeper, tighter; you could feel your inner muscles twitching around him, trying to push him out or pull him in deeper, helpless to do either.

He nipped at your shoulder, then sucked the abraded skin. You wriggled. He liked that so much that he pulled out until only the tip remained, and barrelled back in until his hips met your ass with a bump. That set the tone. He grabbed your thigh in one hand, braced himself on the other, and began the very serious work of fucking you into the bed. Nerves flared into life with every nudge and shove of his cock, until you were panting and shoving back against him, eager for more, desperate for it not to stop.

Your hands slid along the sheets with every thrust, until you were forced to grab the headboard for support, your head hanging limp between your outstretched arms. He loved it, driving himself in harder to watch your arms bend and tremble with the effort. Soon, too soon, your body bucked and trembled, a forceful shiver rippling down your spine as slow heat rolled through you. You pressed your lips together against the low whine that wanted to escape. Not yet. You wouldn’t give in just yet.

He felt your orgasm, anyway, by the long pulling flexing of your internal walls. 'Why so quiet, huh?’ His own voice was taut with strain. Unsatisfied with your response, he pulled your hands from the bedstead and pushed you down, manhandling you with absurd ease. He wrapped an arm around your waist, hauling your back to his chest. His pace became brutal, punishing, banging against your g-spot, shoving himself inside you like you were the last fuck he was ever going to have. His grunts grew louder, echoing off the walls, matched by your own, higher-pitched, muffled.

His body covered yours completely, dictating every move you made, driving the breath out you with the force of it. Something rough scraped your shoulder. His mask. His teeth found your neck. Bit down hard enough to hurt. Your knees trembled. His hand slid down your stomach and a calloused fingertip pressed down _hard_ on your clit, his other arm wrapped around your throat, binding you against him, cutting off your air supply.

You came undone. Your throat was scoured by hoarse shrieks as you bucked and struggled in the throes of a harsh climax. You could thrash as much as you want. You weren’t going anywhere in his hold. Grimmjow rode you through it, burying himself inside you in rampant, sloppy thrusts that only prolonged the violent pleasure. He came hard, crushing you to the bed with his weight. Dimly, you were aware of the way he jerked against you, his abs twitching against the small of your back. His animalistic snarl of satisfaction

You lay prone, boneless, panting for breath. You could only gasp when he dragged himself out of you. You turned your head to one side, resting your cheek against the cool surface of the pillow. Eyes closed. Your legs still trembled with the aftershocks, your core still pulsing weakly. The mattress beside you dipped.

_Good_ , he’d go in the other room or slouch off somewhere else and let you recover-

A large arm snagged around your waist and dragged you across the sheet. Hard muscle hit your back. The hell?

'Grimmjow?’ you started, puzzled.

'Shut up, woman,’ he ordered, burying his face against the nape of your neck. You could try to struggle out of his hold, but your limbs didn’t really want to respond right now.

You hadn’t pegged him as the cuddling type.

'I can sleep on the couch,’ you ventured. Fucking him was one thing, sleeping in the same bed was another. Alarm was beginning to burn through the haze of post-coital bliss.

'Shut _up_ ,’ he growled, but without heat. 'I wanna keep you where I can keep a fucking eye on you. Stop fucking blabbing.’

You obeyed. He gave satisfied grunt and tightened his arm, tucking his long legs up behind yours. You felt as his body relaxed, settling into a warm, heavy cage around yours. _He’s not so bad when he keeps his mouth shut_ , you thought, your eyelids already growing heavy.

Then there was nothing to do but sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews. There is satisfaction and smut to come in the following chapter. But before that...character development...

_Urahara-shoten, Karakura Town_

It wasn’t quite what Urahara Kisuke expected to wake up to on a fine autumn morning. He turned down the volume on the computer speakers, eyes fixated on the screen in front of him. It was divided into eight smaller boxes, each of which had a video feed. In three of the boxes, a _very_ interesting scene was taking place.

____-san, face-down on a wide bed, being drilled into front behind by none other than Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. If the tinny sounds coming through the speaker were anything to go by, she was rather enjoying it too.

Kisuke was transfixed. He didn’t really want to watch Grimmjow’s ass -toned as it might be- rutting back and forth, but it was like watching a car crash; he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

It was almost a relief when the pair of them finished, collapsing onto the bed in a heap.

This wasn’t what he’d anticipated when Grimmjow had shown up at ____’s door. He’d seen the marks on her neck yesterday, but… Jeez, they’d really gone at it. He had to wonder at Grimmjow’s stamina if he had sex like that after getting the beat-down from both Ichigo and Shinji.

He sat back and rubbed his hand over his stubbly jaw. ‘Shit.’

That pretty much summarised his entire night. First Ichigo had been fighting when he was supposed to be training. Then Inoue had been taken by Ulquiorra. Now this. Even as he sat there he could feel the rumbles of Aizen’s plans moving into action. Grimmjow and ____ were the wild card. Innuendo not intended.

He reached for the phone. 

* * *

_Apartment, Karakura Town_

There was an earthquake.

Your eyes peeled open, rimmed with the crust of sleep. Your body ached, but mostly your head, and the fact that it was currently vibrating didn’t help. The marshmallow-blur in front of you turned out to be a pillow, and the earthquake was the loud, rattling, cloth-ripping snore coming from the wide-open mouth of a rogue Espada.

'Ugh, Grimmjow,’ you groaned, pressing a hand to your aching temple. He was draped across your back like a large, hot, heavy blanket, snoring right by your ear. His arms were locked around your waist so tight you were surprised you hadn’t asphyxiated in your sleep. You were boiling. He was like a furnace.

'Let go of me,’ you muttered, trying to wriggle away.

His arms tightened, pulling you back against him. The fucker was still asleep, snoring, if anything, even louder. You buried your head in your pillow.

'Asshole.’

As if the universe was trying to make your day worse, your denreishinki let out a shrill ringing. There was only one person who would be calling. Shit. You flailed toward the sound, still contained by a pair of arms like steel bars.

'GRIMMJOW,’ you yelled, shrill with frustration.

The snoring stopped abruptly. Teeth nipped your shoulder. A warning. 'What,’ came the rude, sullen demand.

'Let go of me!’ you demanded, straining out of his grasp. He sighed in aggravation and let go. Your forward momentum caught up with you and you toppled off the bed, landing with a thud and one arm trapped beneath you.

There was a beat of silence, save for the denreishinki ringing. You got on your knees, picked it up, and flipped it open.

‘Hello?’ you said dully, ignoring Grimmjow’s raucous laughter at your graceless tumble to Carpetville.

‘Hello, ____-san.’ Urahara. ‘We need to talk about your guest.’

You froze, then turned to stare at the sniggering Espada sprawled on your bed. ‘My guest?’ you asked, innocent as a newborn lamb.

‘Yes. Tall guy. Blue hair. Homicidal maniac. Is this ringing any bells?’

‘A couple,’ you admitted. ‘How did you-’

‘The apartment is fitted with cameras. I hope you’ll forgive me for having reservations about you, considering your past affiliations-’

‘CAMERAS?’ you shrieked. The phone fell from your hand. You jumped up and snatched a sheet off the bed, wrapping it around yourself, looking wildly around the room for any sign of hidden devices. Cameras. _Cameras_. Oh shit. _Shit._ Had he seen _everything?_  

‘What are you shrieking about now?’ asked Grimmjow, hand flashing out toward where his zanpakuto rested against the wall.

‘Urahara!’ you snarled, half-forgetting that Grimmjow wouldn’t even know who that was. ‘He has _cameras_  all over this apartment and he _saw_ us.’

Grimmjow stared at you for a long minute. Then, a wide, wicked smile cut his face nearly in half. ‘Did he get a good shot of you screaming my name?’

You stared at the Espada in outrage. The only thing you could throw at him was a pillow, which wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. You bent to pick up the denreishinki, holding it to your ear. ‘Urahara,’ you said, voice dangerous and quiet. ‘Did you film me…’

‘In flagrante?’ he finished for you. You could imagine him examining his nails on the other end of the phone. ‘Yep.’

‘ _You…’_

‘Now, now,’ he said, infuriatingly calm. ‘How was I supposed to know you’d be having a gentleman caller? I didn’t expect you to rebound with one Aizen’s underlings. But kudos to you for moving on so…thoroughly.’ His voice lost its teasing quality. ‘Now that we are both being honest with each other, tell me, did you tell your new boyfriend where to find the Vizards yesterday?’

A long pause. Guilt closed your throat. ‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ He didn’t sound particularly shocked, or even angry. ‘Did you tell him to take Inoue-san along to get past the barrier?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right. Did you know Ulquiorra took her back to Hueco Mundo with him?’

You stiffened. ‘ _What?’_

‘I expect he’s going to use her as bait to lure Ichigo Kurosaki to Las Noches. I’m not saying it’s your fault she was caught up in this, ____-san. I’m to blame as well, but now we have an emergency on our hands. Aizen has his hands on Inoue-san. He’s moving.’

You sat down hard on the bed. ‘He’s going to use it, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ said Urahara. 'Soul Society and I are ready to act, but you’re a loose end. I need to know where you’re going to be during all this.’

You stared around the small, blank room. ‘I can’t fight him…I…’ Your voice trailed away. ‘Kurosaki is going to fight him, isn’t he? He’s going to Hueco Mundo.’

‘Yes.’

A hand gripped your wrist and yanked the denreishinki away from your ear. Grimmjow’s hot breath curled against the side of your face. ‘He’s going to fight Aizen?’ he demanded.

‘Yes,’ you said. He’d have heard anyway. Why bother to lie. Your stomach sank.

He released your wrist and got off the bed, making the mattress bounce. He said nothing, picking up his clothes from where they lay scattered on the floor. He dressed with a brutal efficiency.  

‘Urahara-san, you said urgently. ‘I need to call you back.’

‘There won’t be time. Get your things and get out of Karakura Town,’ said Urahara. ‘Don’t get in the way of either side. I can’t guarantee your safety from Aizen or Yamamoto. I’ll contact you when it’s safe. And ____-san?’

‘What?’ you snapped, eyes fixed on Grimmhow as he pulled his hakama up his hips. He was leaving. He was going and you knew exactly where and-

‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ said Urahara.

‘When do I ever?’ you said, snapping the device shut. ‘Grimmjow-’

Grimmjow wasn’t listening. He had a feral grin on his face, his eyes brilliant with excitement. The sulkiness of last night had melted away entirely. He looked…feverish, like he was burning up from the inside with anticipation. He was going to find Ichigo, and fight him again. He still had bandages around part of his torso from yesterday, but he hardly seemed to notice. 

Panic burnt in your veins, like acid. He was going to get himself killed. You weren’t allies. You weren’t even friends. 

‘ _Grimmjow_.’ 

He looked up, scowled. ‘ _What_?’

You scrambled for words. When had you lost all your words, all your pretty persuasions? ‘Don’t…don’t go after him.’

He was still for a second, staring at you as your words sunk in. A second later, he was in your face, teeth bared, rage rolling off him like heat. ‘Why the fuck not?’

You grit your teeth and glared back. ‘Because he’ll have help. A lot of it. And Aizen will be there.’

‘Even better,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see that asshole’s face-’

‘He’ll kill y-’

You didn’t get the rest of the sentence out. A large hand pressed into the mattress, with your neck between the two. You choked on your words, grabbing at his wrist. It wasn’t enough to crush your windpipe, but you could hardly breathe. 

‘Don’t fucking underestimate me, _bitch_ ,’ Grimmjow hissed from three inches away, his eyes ablaze. His words dripped with poison. Last night evaporated like smoke in your mind. ‘I’m not going to let that bastard Aizen take _my_ fight. Kurosaki is _my_ kill.’

Your eyes were watering by the time he let go. He didn’t bother to check you were still breathing. Zanpakuto in hand, he picked up his jacket from where it lay tossed over a bedpost, and swung it over his shoulder. 

He didn’t spare you a glance as you left the room. The front door slammed.

* * *

_Park, West Tokyo_

Your throat still ached from his grip. These days it was always either being crushed in Grimmjow’s hand, or tight with repressed emotions. This latest ache was nothing new. The cloak was almost weightless where it drifted from your head and shoulders. The black cloth slid between your fingers like misty silk. Despite its thinness, it hid your reiatsu.

You were a void walking through the world. 

The bottom of your stomach was empty. Hollow as Grimmjow’s. Despite everything, your mouth quirked up at the corner. Gallows humour, perhaps. Because the whole world was going to die when Aizen got his way. You dragged the cloak tighter as chills ran down your spine. He wanted to sacrifice 100,000 souls, create a key to the Royal Realm, and rule the universe. You wouldn’t have anywhere to hide. You didn’t hold a hope in hell that Ichigo Kurosaki could defeat Aizen. You tilted your head back, looking at the darkening sky. Almost an entire day gone. 

Yes, you were a coward, hiding out in the World of the Living while others fought and died to stop your former lover. While every soul in Karakura Town was in jeopardy. 

You watched a mother chivvying her children out of the park, heading home to cook them dinner. They didn’t look your way. Your odd, cloaked form was invisible to them. Even the thousands of Hollows congregating in the area would only find you if they could see you. Your spiritual pressure was nil on the radar.

The denreishinki was quiet in your pocket, silenced hours ago. The constant beeping was a pain. You took it out. The screen was crowded with dots. 

He was _such_ a bastard. Ruthless, selfish, arrogant. He’d used you as much as you’d used him. 

You took out a small, flat disk. The mother and her kids had left the park. The sun was setting fast in the distance. You crushed the disk in your fist. Hollow bait. Who would notice a few more Hollows in this mass?

The human world was already fucked. You didn’t owe him a damn thing. You didn’t.

So you were going to save his ass. Of course.

The sky bulged and stretched and seemed to tear. The cry of the Gillian shattered the quiet park. You pulled the cloak tight so not a whisper of reiatsu could escape. You couldn’t open a garganta, but a Hollow could. The creature spilled out of the rip in the sky like black blood welling from a cut, its white mask blank and staring. It oozed to the ground. Behind it, the garganta began to close.

You gathered air beneath your feet and soared at it at full speed. Air whistled in your ears. Your eyes were fixated on that narrowing gap. You hurtled through it a half-second before it snapped shut.

You were spat out on the other side.

White sand in all directions, juts of rock, and high pitiless sky. Blue as Grimmjow’s eyes.

_Hueco Mundo._

* * *

_Las Noches_

_That fucking kid._

Stupid fucking noble useless worthless _fucking_ kid. What kind of idiot _protected_ his fallen enemy? He didn’t need that human to protect him from the likes of Nnoitra.

He was done. He barely had the strength left to pick himself up from the ground. Twice in as many days he was flat on his back, the crap kicked out of him.

He grinned. Little tosser. He better not get himself killed by Aizen. _I want another rematch_.

His pride couldn’t take much more of the whole horizontal thing. He liked lying around on his ass, but not in a growing pool of his own blood. Grunting between his clenched teeth, he clawed his way to his feet. Blood splattered the sand.

Pain lanced through him. His thoughts were sluggish, like his limbs. He tried to step forward and stumbled. Snarling at his own incapacity, he took another step, firmer than the last. Again. Again.

He lost count of how long he staggered forward into the endless horizon.

Minutes.

Hours.

Sand scuffed in the distance.

Grimmjow whirled, lips pulled back in a snarl, hands curving into claws. He’d rip them apart, bite their throat out with his teeth-

A short, black-draped figure appeared over a dune.

He squinted against the glare. He couldn’t smell them, couldn’t feel their reiatsu. He crouched, ready to spring, no matter how much it cost him. If they tried to fuck with him, he’d taste their blood-

‘Hey, asshole!’

Wait. What?

He straightened. He knew that voice. Was his mind playing tricks on him because of the blood loss? His wounds ought to be knitting themselves together by now. Could you even _get_ mirages in this desert?

The figure threw back its hood. The light glinted off her hair. Her reiatsu drifted to him through the thin air, coiling around his. Their energy knew each other by now, instinctively reached out for each other.

Why would she…? The last time he’d seen her, her terrified face had been staring up at him while he snarled at her. Was she stubborn, or stupid? He snorted. _Probably both_.

‘You look like shit,’ she said, giving him a cursory once-over. She didn’t look too happy to see him. He opened his mouth to disagree. There was nothing fucking wrong with how he looked- ‘Did you see Aizen?’

‘No. The fuck are you doing here?’ His voice was ragged.

She stalked forward, yanking at his clothes, checking him for wounds. He stared down at the top of her head. She’d followed him to Hueco Mundo. Small fingers grabbed his chin. He snarled a warning, but she tilted his head down, looking him over with a critical eye. She pressed a green-glowing thumb to a cut on his cheek. The sting ebbed.

‘I don’t even know,’ she sighed. ‘God knows you’re not worth the hassle.’

 ‘How’d you even get here?’

‘Followed a Gillian through its garganta,’ she shrugged. Like it was nothing. ‘Can you open one back?’

He stared. ‘You came back here to get me? Are you fucking crazy?’

She snorted. ‘I must be. From the look of you, you’re not going anywhere unless you want to die before you get there.’ He felt a growl rising in his throat, an instinctive reaction to the mere suggestion of weakness. She heard, and rolled her eyes. ‘Save it. I can keep you alive if you get us out of here.’

She still had her hand on his face, holding his chin. She didn’t smell like him anymore.

 _Fuck._ He didn’t like it.

He grabbed her by the front of her cloak, dragging her in. The collar slipped, revealing a livid bite mark on her neck. Her smell clouded his nose. Something in his chest loosened. He mustered what little energy he had left for a garganta. Hueco Mundo crumpled like paper. 

The World of the Living slotted into place around them. She was still right there, holding him up, though he refused to admit that.

And something at the back of his mind purred, _Mine_. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the finale. I hope this is a satisfying ending. There'll be an epilogue soon that's literally nothing but fluff and smut, so keep a watch for that. Thank you to everyone who has commented and given kudos. It means a lot and it's extremely encouraging! If any of you ever want to chat to me, find me over at sexintheseireitei.tumblr.com <3

_Tokyo, Japan_

Another day, another alleyway. This one narrower and dirtier than the one before. The buildings rose high and close on either side, trash piled up like filthy snowdrifts against the bricks. The sky was a narrow strip overhead, shading into overcast grey, and at the end of the alley, traffic roared past in a blur of smog. People hurried past, clutching their coats. Rain was imminent.

Grimmjow was a heavy weight around your neck, both physically and metaphorically. You still had no idea what you were supposed to do with him. The apartment wasn't a possibility. Urahara had told you to stay out of Karakura town completely. Whatever was happening over there, it would be crawling with people you didn't want to run into: shinigami, Espada, ex-boyfriends. The whole thing was a mess.

Hotels were a possibility as you had cash, but you had no gigai. The receptionist wouldn't even be able to see you. Also, the thought of letting Grimmjow loose in a nice hotel was enough to quickly scrap that idea.

Thieving and sneaking again, it was.

The street was full of humans, hurrying to and fro to get home before the heavens opened. Streetlights were blinking on, a string of orange will-o-the-wisps hanging over the road.

'Like fucking ants,' Grimmjow muttered, his voice an irritated grumble next to your ear. 'They don't know shit.'

'They're just human,' you said, adjusting his arm across your shoulders. 'How did you find that apartment last time?' You scanned the buildings. Rows of blank windows looked back, giving no clue about which one could be your next sanctuary. 'Can you do it again?'

He cursed, breathing rough. 'Useless woman.' He made an offhand gesture at a building halfway down the street. 'Empty one, there. No human smell for a while.' His arm fell heavily back to his side. He leaned upon you all the more; his strength was flagging.

By some miracle, you got him through the rush-hour crowds, down a side-alley and up the back stairs to the door of the apartment he'd indicated. No-one could see you, but you still had a hell of a time making sure no humans crashed into you.

A tiny kido spell ruptured the lock on the door, and you kicked it open. The layout was much the same as Urahara's safe-house. Human habitats were efficient, if not very grand. Grimmjow was blessedly and uncharacteristically silent as you manhandled him down the hall to the bedroom. He collapsed fully-clothed onto the bed, grimacing as his battered limbs settled against the mattress.

He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. A sliver of sapphire.

'I'm not gonna thank you.'

You paused in the act of rubbing your aching neck, turning to stare at him. A laugh of disbelief bubbled up. 'Grimmjow, I really wasn't expecting you to.'

A grunt. His eyes closed. 'Good.'

You stared at him in disbelief. Idiotic, absurd _jerk_. The thought had no venom behind it. He was like a wild animal, half-tamed by familiarity, but still determined to be wild.

 _Like actual cats_ , you mused as you went to the bathroom in search of a first-aid kit. Didn't the legend go that they'd domesticated humans, and not the other way around?

 _I'm not domesticated. Right?_ You derailed that train of thought and gathered supplies, returning to the bedroom. He stirred when you dumped the armful of bandages and antiseptic beside him. His face, with its sharp, fine features, was serious, calculating.

'Why did you come looking for me?'

The lack of 'bitch' and 'woman' was almost alarming, when combined with that penetrating stare. The back of your neck prickled, as though a blade was pressed against your nape. The next words from your mouth held the weight of determining your fate.

'Because who else can I bitch about Aizen with?' you retorted, unzipping the first-aid kit with a jerk that sent plasters tumbling onto the bedspread. You said nothing about the last time you'd parted with him. What was the point? He'd ignored your advice, intimidated you, and walked out without a second glance. Agitation made you fumble. 'Because you're an idiot.'

At any other time, you would've expected him to get up and slam you into a wall for the insult. Thanks to Kurosaki, he could barely move at all. His glare blistered the side of your face.

Your silence was pointed, sharp. Your reishi was low, a shallow ripple at the bottom of the well. You dredged up what you had left; it materialised in a pale green flicker of heat around your fingers. The slash across his back was the worst, closing sluggishly. Blood already stained the bed.

'Turn over.'

He grunted, displeased, but rolled onto his side. The back of his jacket was rent almost in two. Your fingers ghosted across the edges of the wound. He winced.

'Kurosaki did this?' You couldn't believe Ichigo would strike an enemy from behind. He seemed too noble. Idiotically so.

'Nnoitra. That weak-ass bitch.'

'I never liked him. He always gave me the creeps,' you said.

He snorted. The remnants of his jacket would only get in your way. You took the scissors from the first-aid kit and snipped through the last few threads.

'What the fuck are you doing?' he demanded.

'Relax. I'll get you another.' You brushed the offending halves of fabric out of the way and got to work on his back. He stopped complaining when cool healing kido sank into his skin, speeding along his own body's healing. New skin seemed to ripple across his back, leaving the wound as a long pink streak of shiny new skin. It might scar. You weren't sure if he cared.

He was almost pleasant, silent and facing away. Warm, and solid. His Hollow hole and angular '6' tattoo, aside. Firm skin, broad, muscular shoulders, a few fronds of powder-blue hair lying along the nape of his neck. Your fingers twitched, half-caught in a strange urge to sweep them aside. You curled your fingers against your palms and looked away.

You would deal with his injuries. That was it.

If he noticed your reticence as you bandaged his arms, his ribs, his left leg, then he didn't comment on it. You half-wondered if Kurosaki had beaten the fight out of him. He lacked the dark, sullen anger of last time.

Perhaps he regretted surviving. And how had Nnoitra been involved?

You were so caught up in your thoughts, you didn't notice the way his eyes followed you. Didn't notice the hand reaching for your chin, until it was pulled up. His gaze met yours and clashed.

'Why did you come looking, woman?' His tone was low, and rough, but not aggressive.

There was no point pretending. What pride did you have left? Everyone from Soul Society to Hueco Mundo thought you were a colossal idiot. Even the Hollow in front of you.

'I don't know,' you replied. You didn't know anything. You didn't know why you kept coming back to places you weren't wanted. There was a surge in your chest, like something clawing at you from the inside. It gripped around your throat. You pulled your chin from his grasp. 'Probably just another stupid decision.'

You left the room, taking the rest of the bandages and stowing them in the first cupboard you saw. Which was actually the fridge. Food. You needed food and then to get the hell out of Dodge-

A shrill ringing burst from your pocket. You started, then grabbed for it, pulling the shrieking denreishinki out and flipping it open. Your fingers twitched across the buttons. Hollows? Shinigami? _Aizen?_

'Urahara?' you said aloud, staring at the kanji across the screen. You hit 'answer' and held it to your ear.

'Hello, ____-san,' came Urahara Kisuke's voice from the speaker on the side. He sounded weary. Far less playful. Your stomach sank. 'Thank you for answering. It makes it much easier to find out where you are.'

Panic ran like ice in your veins. You stared at the kitchen window. Your own reflection stared back. You shuffled out of view, behind the fridge. 'Why do you need to find me?'

 _Shit. Fuck. Shit._ Was this the part where Urahara turned you in? You were just as wanted as Gin and Tosen, even if you hadn't committed any actual crime but defection. Your hand clenched around the device until it creaked in protest.

Urahara sighed. 'Because your ex-lover is proving most troublesome. I assume your current one is out of action for the time being? Really, ____-san, you have the most dramatic love life.'

Footsteps. As though he was climbing stairs.

'Woman!' Grimmjow, yelling from the bedroom.

'Here we are,' said Urahara. 'Nice area you've set yourself up in, ____-san. Sorry I didn't bring a housewarming gift-'

Realisation struck as all the elements of conversation crashed together in your head. You ran toward the front door, a bare flicker of reishi converging in your palm. Maybe you could manage a _Shakkaho_ if you put all your strength into it-

'Knock-knock,' said Urahara through the phone. And through the door.

You flung it open.

He stood on the doorstep, dusty, bloody, torn, and smiling. 'There really wasn't time to go to the store.'

A loud snarl ripped through the apartment, coming from the bedroom. You flailed a glance over your shoulder, then back at Kisuke. 'What...what the hell are you doing here? What about Aizen? What-'

He held up both hands to forestall you. 'There's really no time. Ichigo's in the deep end. I need your...assistance.'

You didn't like that pause. You didn't like any of this. Your part was over!

'I gave you the information you needed. What the hell else do you want?' You edged back from the door. Urahara took it as the invitation it wasn't. You stepped back into the doorway of the bedroom, a fragile barrier between the vicious, injured Espada, and the calculating, suspicious shinigami. 'What can I possibly do? I was just his-'

'You're a distraction,' Urahara said. Simple and matter-of-fact. His expression was grim as he advanced upon you. 'I remember that I promised to keep you out of it as best I could, but there's no more time. I have a trap, but it needs help springing.'

You'd been clutching the doorframe, knuckles white. Your palm was clammy against the wood. 'Are you sure I won't be caught in it too? You're not planning to hand me over to Yamamoto the first chance you get?'

Urahara scruffed a hand through his hair. 'I don't exactly have the best track record with the old man myself. I'd rather not get too close and personal with him if I can avoid it. I don't need you to do anything. Just be there.'

He flickered a glance to Grimmjow, over your shoulder. 'Do you want Aizen to succeed? You won't live long, if he does. Either of you.'

'Who the fuck are you?' snarled Grimmjow. You could hear bedsprings creaking as he struggled to his feet behind you. 'What do want with her?'

'Grimmjow, is it?' Urahara asked pleasantly. 'Nice to meet you. We should talk, later.' He turns his attention back to you. 'Are you coming?'

You stuttered, caught between fear and urgency. You had to make sure Aizen was taken down. You needed him to be killed. One less hunter to feel breathing down your neck. No-one would protect you when this was done. How much longer would you live, if you could make sure Aizen was taken out of the game?

'Let's go,' you said faintly, starting forward.

'Wait a fucking minute!' Grimmjow's voice was furious, underscored with a growl. His reitatsu began to clog the room, choking your senses with blue fire. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he stormed toward you and Urahara in the doorway, his hand reaching out-

'As you wish,' said Urahara, his hand landing on your shoulder.

Grimmjow's face dropped into a livid snarl. 'Don't touch _my_ fucking-'

A senkaimon opened, and the bedroom vanished.

* * *

 

_Karakura Town, Soul Society_

As the eye twitched open on his forehead and blood, the last of his mortal blood, ran down the bridge of his nose, Aizen knew that Kurosaki Ichigo was going to die at last. His eyes rolled back, his bones and veins cracking, burning, with sweet, satisfying agony. He laughed as his face cracked in two and peeled away, the sound whipped away by a pillar of violet-black light and its resulting thunderclap.

The fabric of reality stretched, a keening noise echoed through the universes as they protested this aberration. He could feel time extending away from him, before and behind. Was this what it was to be a god? To walk the line between life and death, past and future, _God and King_.

Dark light exploded from him. He screamed. Pain and victory.

White matter bubbled and surged from his back, growing eyes, growing teeth. His awareness splintered into six, seven, eight, nine. A thousand minds, each bent on elevation, on reaching ever-greater heights.

The Hogyoku would never allow it him to be defeated by a mere mortal. A human. A boy. A speck in the great expanses of existence.

Fire.

The boy's arm, hanging limp.

Aizen surged forward, bent on attack. He surrounded him, caught the boy's throat in one night-black fist.

'Can you hear me, Kurosaki?' The boy's pulse beat beneath his palm, failing. Aizen felt his monstrous new mouth break into a grin. The shrivelled halves of his human face hung limp from either side of his head, like the shed skin of a snake. 'You've done so well, Kurosaki, and come so far. You've even crossed the border between shinigami and Hollow. You have become transcendent.'

His tone was consoling, even praising. The boy had done well. Just not well enough. They would never be equal.

'But you have lost that distinction. You are nothing now, and I, the true transcendent, shall destroy you. You are the last of the vermin I have to extinguish.'

Victory was grasped, literally, in the palm of his hand. He had only to do this one last chore. Then he could make the Oken, and go to the Royal Realm. To the palace of the Soul King, to confront that foul abomination itself.

King, they called it. Lynchpin. Guardian. It was nothing more than a puppet. Limbless, lifeless, staring through time without care for those who suffered and died under its rule.

Kurosaki Ichigo, the fool who stood in his way. _I'm almost sorry you have to die._

But not enough to show mercy.

It came, therefore, as a nasty shock when Kurosaki raised his head, defiance burning in his brown eyes. Confidence. Arrogance. Kurosaki raised his blade, and Aizen found himself driven back. Shock marred his features. He stopped himself before he crashed into the mountain, watching in mingled horror and fascination.

'You're boring me,' said Kurosaki. 'Don't you ever stop talking?'

Aizen's hands clenched into fists. He ached to strike, to cut away that defiant expression-

' _Getsuga Tensho_!'

A supernova of white-blue light and flame. Rippling energy that blasted his senses, threatening to burn him away. Aizen turned his face half away; the shadow-action of a mortal need to protect his eyes. Mere light couldn't blind him now. Irritated with himself, he turned back, forcing himself to watch this new revelation.

_Always full of surprises._

When the last vestiges of light faded, Kurosaki stood there, deceptively small and slender. His torso was wrapped in grey bandages up to his eyes, his coat blasted away, his hair blackened and hanging to his waist.

_What..._

'I've become one with my zanpakuto,' said Kurosaki, his voice calm and even. He didn't betray a flicker of fear, or even anger. He seemed as cold and immovable as stone, and his arm was just as steady as he raised a slender black blade to point directly at Aizen's heart. 'It will cost me my shinigami powers, but it's worth it to take you down.'

Aizen inhaled sharply, a sliver of fear lodging itself in his heart, what was left of it. Impossible. It was...

' _Mugetsu_!'

 _Impossible_!

The world ceased to be. All that remained was darkness and a deep, empty silence. Aizen's body shivered and broke, bones grinding to dust inside him, muscles tearing, organs writhing and protesting, failing. He sucked in a last breath before the darkness swept him under. The ground struck him from what felt like above, below, every angle.

He tasted ash in his mouth.

His mouth.

Lips. He had lips again.

What had the boy done to him? What had that torrent of dark energy done? Where had it come from?

The dust parted. Pain lanced through him as his body regenerated. His arms shook, and his breath rasped as he struggled to his feet. He would not lie on the ground while the boy stood in front of him. The boy.

The _human_ boy.

Realisation bloomed in his mind like a single, perfect white flower. He was alive. Transformation destroyed or not...he was alive. He sucked in a sharp breath and looked at the boy who now knelt before him. As it should be.

Something cracked. A shard of zanpakuto clattered to the ground. He looked down at it, and smiled.

'You have lost. My zanpakuto is disappearing, as yours did. I am one with Kyoyka Suigetsu now, as you were with Getsuga Tensho, and you are nothing but a human. You've lost your powers.'

Indeed, Kurosaki's hair was its usual obnoxious orange, his limbs human and weak, his eyes dull and bovine with defeat.

'You are _finished_.'

He raised his arm to strike the killing blow.

'You always were an arrogant prick,' drawled a female voice from behind him.

That voice was achingly familiar, and entirely unwelcome. Aizen's eyes flared wide. He turned his head.

Her.

Urahara Kisuke.

And Grimmjow?

A laugh of disbelief grated up through his throat, still hoarse from the after-effects of Kurosaki's _Mugetsu_. Here they were. The last remnants of the resistance. All of them an irritation, in one form or another. Urahara, always underfoot. Grimmjow, always disobeying. And _her_.

Running away, exposing his plans, his secrets. He hadn't anticipated her fleeing. She was simple-minded. Weak. It was the Sexta Espada who'd helped her, of course. Anything to be a thorn in Aizen's side. He'd half hoped that Kurosaki had killed him, like Ulquiorra. Useless.

'Why aren't you hiding beneath a rock, ____-chan? Or begging forgiveness from our former colleagues? I'm sure they would take you back. Or perhaps, if Nnoitra is still alive, I'm sure he'll take you on.'

Revulsion crossed her face, plain as day. She'd always lacked any subtlety. She was like the rest of them - blocky and basic, like statues made of unformed clay. Their minds dull and sluggish. He was eons beyond them now, like a god observing ants scurrying across a rock, daring to defy Him.

'Maa, she's already got somebody else,' drawled Urahara, scratching at the back of his neck. He shrugged a shoulder in the direction of Grimmjow. 'How're you doing, Ichigo?'

'Urahara, what-' Kurosaki started.

Aizen cut them off with a blast of his reishi. How dare they converse, acting as though he wasn’t there?

At the back of his mind, jealousy stirred. His eyes darted between ____ and Grimmjow. So. She'd let herself be fucked and defiled by a Hollow. She’d crawled from his bed to whatever cesspit Grimmjow must have taken her in.

Fool. From the moment she'd stumbled into one of his meetings with Tosen and Gin all those years ago, to the moment she'd come storming into his throne room to confront him about some other lover he'd taken, she'd acted nothing but a fool. Ruled by her emotions, petty, weak, and slow-witted.

Still, it rankled.

He had chosen her. As soon as he realised she was so utterly naive, so easily taken in, he'd picked her up as his favourite toy. Someone who wasn't Momo. Oh, Momo. So sweet, so stupid. But with Hitsugaya's eyes always fixed on her back, always watching.

No, he couldn't play with Momo.

But, ____? No-one cared what happened to her. He doubted anyone had noticed when he'd convinced her to come to Hueco Mundo, to be a little slice of indulgence to alleviate the long boredom of waiting for his dense underlings to carry out his plans, waiting for the world to slowly resolve into the image he'd dreamed for it. A distraction. A night's fun.

He'd grown bored and decided to toss her aside, cutting away yet another tie to his mortality as he took another step closer assuming that throne in the sky. He stared at her, standing there, glaring at him.

He felt nothing from her. No power. Like an empty bulb, a snuffed candle.

Insignificant.

'She's sweet, Aizen-sama,' drawled Grimmjow, slouched over, wearing an insolent expression. 'The little squeals she makes. I see why you kept her.'

Irritation flared. _This_  one. 

‘The last time I saw you, you were on your knees,’ he said, his voice cool. ‘Did you think snatching up my cast-off would make you like me?’ He waved his hand, now empty, at Grimmjow. ‘You were defeated by this boy, and now he is defeated by me. I’m sure even you can see where that places you in the pecking order.’

Grimmjow snarled, little more than a beast. 

Aizen turned his back, fixing his gaze on Kurosaki. ‘Enough. Bow your head, Kurosaki Ichigo. Die with a little dignity.’

He took a step forward.

Pain. 

As though a forge-fresh sword had just been plunged straight through his chest. He stopped, frowned, and looked down at himself. A red bolt, right through him. A column of them down his torso, and across. A crucifix of red fire.

 _Kido_?

His head whipped toward Urahara. ‘You-’

Urahara’s expression was edging on bored. Weary. Aizen felt fear like ice seeping into his gut.

‘What have you done.’

‘I slipped a seal into that last kido I threw at you,’ said Urahara. ‘You were so caught up in how you could resist it, that you didn’t even notice the trap. It’s thanks to Ichigo here, really, that you’ve set it off. I needed him to push you to your limits in this fight, to activate it.’

‘No,’ Aizen snapped. ‘The Hogyoku will not allow-’

‘Look at your arm.’ 

Aizen felt something shatter, and glanced down. His hand. His _human_  hand stared back at him, flesh and blood and bone. A healthy pink. The white flesh flaked away like a rush of scales, eroding in the air. He raised both shaking hands, one white, one pink, to his face. 

Short brown hair. Warm, mortal flesh.

 _No_.

‘The Hogyoku has rejected you as its master,’ said Urahara, his face without pity.

Aizen scrabbled at his chest. More white skin peeled away. The red bolts flashed, and he was struck through with a dozen kido-swords, bending him double in a howl of agony.

_No. No. NO._

This couldn’t- It shouldn’t- 

He lifted his head, glaring at the four pairs of eyes fixed on him. An audience for his defeat. Idiots. _Fucking idiots._ Urahara.

‘You! You know what it is! You’ve seen it! How can you serve it!’

‘The Soul King? I serve it because I must. I would rather take what this world has to give than destroy it for what it does not. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Sosuke. You’re an idealist.’

White substances bubbled from Aizen’s back, wrapping around his limbs, turning him to stone. He fought them, throwing out his arms, ripping away at the growing prison. His howl of outrage was half-lost as the kido engulfed him. He spat at them. At the human boy, the weak-willed exile, the Hollow mutant, and the faithless whore.

 _Damn_ them. 

As the stone covered his eyes, he closed them.

_You’ve ruined it all._

* * *

 

Silence, and a skirl of dust rising up around the ten-foot-high white cross that now dominated the clearing. The sky was deceptively blue. A faint rush of wind started up in the distance.

The four of you were a strange tableau. Hollow, shinigami, exile, and human.

The breath you had been holding loosened, and as it left your mouth, it took all your tension with it.

‘Is it done?’ you asked Kisuke. Your voice was soft. It felt unsafe, to speak above a whisper. As though the moment might shatter.

‘It’s done.’

‘What will happen to him?’ Ichigo’s voice was strained. Sweat stood out on his upper lip, his bare arms. ‘Will they kill him?’

‘They can’t kill him,’ said Urahara. ‘He’ll be tried by Central 46, and probably imprisoned. Speaking of which.’ He turned to you, and by default it seemed, Grimmjow. ‘You two should leave. Others will arrive soon. I can’t promise to keep you out of it if they see you.’

You hestitated. Leave, now? It made sense, but it felt odd now to dwell here, to absorb the enormity of Aizen’s defeat. It was over. Urahara made a gesture. Kido rippled as the senkaimon opened behind you.

You turned to leave, but were brought up short by Grimmjow. He stared at Ichigo, his expression unreadable. 

‘Grimmjow,’ you said, warning. 

His gaze shifted to you. And away. The garganta swallowed him. He left without a word.

Your eyes pricked in the corners. _Asshole_. _I should be used to that by now._

The senkaimon was waiting, an elegant paper-screen door. It opened on a blank wall of light.

You walked toward its warm embrace, leaving Soul Society behind.

* * *

 

_Three weeks later..._

_Apartment, Karakura Town_

Steam hissed from the round white appliance. You glanced over and cursed when your unwary finger brushed across the wok. You stuck the burned digit in your mouth and reached over to switch off the rice-cooker. You almost had the hang of it. 

At least, the rice didn’t always come out in dry clumps anymore. And the meat sizzling on the wok grill smelled amazing. The spices were just right. Your gigai made visiting the grocery store easier by far, and it didn’t even feel so heavy anymore. Kisuke really knew what he was doing.

The gigai was his. And the apartment. And the job.

It didn’t bear thinking about, the debt you owed him.

So you didn’t. Humans were really quite ingenious. They’d improved their quality of life so much in the last century. Why would anyone want to live in Soul Society when the world of the living had movies and chocolate and automatic doors. 

You’d had far too much fun on your first trip to the supermarket. Security had politely asked whether you were lost.

You managed better now. 

Rice dished up, pots washed, meat laid out in attractive rows, you were all set to enjoy a night in with yourself and some show with dragons and stabbings and muscular men. Especially the muscular men.

You’d just sat down when blue fire tickled the edge of your awareness. Your back stiffened, and your head whipped toward the front door a second before the heavy knock shook it in its frame.

_It can’t-_

_‘Oi, open the fucking door.’_


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

Either you were having a moment of extreme deja-vu, or there was a glitch in the Matrix. Yes, you were a freak for sci-fi films, and, no, this really wasn't the time to be making references. Your stomach dropped. Nerves. Excitement. Fear. Whatever you wanted to call it.

You slid off the couch and climbed to your feet, knees shaking. The TV remote clattered to the floor. Your eyes stung, dry, from staring at the blank slate of the door.

_Grimmjow?_

As though he'd heard your silent question, he knocked again. Loud. '____!'

It was the sound of your name that unlocked you from stasis. The fine hairs on your arms lifted as you crept down the hall, stirred by a heady mix of fear and Grimmjow's reiatsu. Your fingers brushed the cool metal of the lock, hesitated, then twisted it. Kido rippled across your senses as your touch unlocked the apartment's defenses. The door swung open from your nerveless hand.

Burning blue eyes met yours.

'About _time_ ,' he said.

He filled the doorway, tall, and somehow leaner in his new clothes. He slouched, head canted to one side, caught between the light of the moon and the glow of the streetlamps, painted in shades of white and blue and amber. You stared, feasting your eyes. Until now, you hadn't realised how desperate you were for a familiar face. He had new clothes: black jeans, white belts, new jacket, shoes, a shirt.

He frowned, mouth turned down at the corners. 'Are you just gonna stand there looking?'

Something snapped like a bowstring pulled too tight. Your fist lashed out, driving into his arm. He grunted in the back of his throat, rocked back on his feet, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Your knuckles screamed where they'd barked against his rock-hard muscle.

'You _ass_ hole!' you croaked, addressing both him and whatever part of your brain had thought it was a good idea to punch him. You cradled your fist, pumping healing kido into your battered fingers.

He cocked an eyebrow. 'That was stupid. Are you gonna invite me in or what?'

Words, insults, and demands for an explanation clogged in the back of your throat. Your tongue was heavy, limp, dry. Silent, you turned on your heel and marched for the kitchen. The faucet hissed as you turned it to the coldest setting and ran your bruised hand under the spray. Numb.

The rest of you felt numb too. As though too many emotions had clashed together at once. A paint-palette streaked with too many colours, all run together into a grey sludge.

You never even heard the door close.

Something solid pressed against your back, trapping your hips between the counter and itself. Heat, all along your spine. You stiffened, shocked. Large hands gripped your waist, slid around to your stomach, pressing you back. Hair tickled the side of your neck, the hard edge of a mask dug into your shoulder.

_Grimmjow._

He cupped your chin, lifting it. The tip of his nose traced the edge of your throat, followed by a hint of teeth where it joined your shoulder. A low growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating through your body.

'I missed how you smell,' he said, nipping lightly at the edge of your jaw. Followed by a kiss.

Your knees had ceased to exist. You clutched the counter for support. Your skin itched and tingled where he pressed against you, your breath stuttered in and out.

'What the hell are you doing,' you demanded, trying, failing to keep your voice steady as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His hair tickled the side of your face. His hands slipped down to rub at your hips, just as he rubbed himself against your back.

He left, and came back. Left and came back. Like a stray cat returning to a familiar place. Never tamed...but he came back.

'Grimmjow,' you said, voice urgent, resolve crumbling as his lips pressed against the corner of your shoulder, revealed by your casual world of the living clothing. Tingles shot down your arm. ' _Grimmjow_.'

He huffed. ' _What_.'

'Where the fuck have you been? You just...left.'

'Tch,' he muttered, annoyed at having to explain himself. His hands skimmed restlessly up and down your sides, squeezing. His breath was hot against the back of your neck as he spoke. The faucet was still running, forgotten. 'I had shit to do. All of the others are gone, except Halibel and Nel. Should've known the girls would survive. The others were too fucking stupid.'

The other Espada. 'All of them, even Nnoitra?' you asked, stung feelings momentarily forgotten. Urahara hadn't had all the details about what had gone down at your former home, Hueco Mundo.

'Why, d'you miss him?'

You were startled into a harsh laugh. 'Hell no.'

'Hn. Good,' said Grimmjow. His fingers flexed against your stomach, his hips pushed against yours. Teeth nipped against the soft edge of your earlobe. You jumped, twisting your head around. His eyes were fierce, bright. 'Otherwise I might have to get jealous.'

He pulled back, grabbed your hips, spun you to face him, and shoved you back, crowding you against the sink once again. Face-to-face, chest-to-chest. He cupped the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. His grin was wide and cocky, putting dark depths in his eyes as he leaned over you, lowering his mouth-

Wait a fucking minute.

'What the hell are you doing?' You put a hand against his chest and shoved. He didn't budge an inch, but it felt better than just giving in. 'What makes you think you're welcome back here?'

His grin faded, replaced by a hard expression. He pinched your chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted it back. He had your head between both hands. He filled your entire vision as he said:

'You chose me, woman. You came looking for me twice, you healed me twice, you let me fuck you twice.' His hips pressed more insistently against yours with that last sentiment, a growl undercutting his voice. 'Maybe I fucking liked it. You ain't too bad to have around.'

'Grimmjow...' you started, heart thudding hard beneath your ribs. Your fingers were nerveless where they clutched the fabric of his jacket.

'You're _mine_.'

The words chimed through you like the death knell of your resistance. With wide eyes you watched him lower his head. His nose brushed against yours before he canted his head to the side and then his mouth was on yours. Delicious pressure that left you like a puppet with its strings cut: limp. Caught between counter and possessive Arrancar -no longer Espada- there was nothing to be done but hold on.

The kiss was hot, hard, but not bruising. It lacked any anger, it blistered with heat, lust. Your eyes rolled back under their lids, your fingers digging into the wild, silky mess of his pale blue hair. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, creating a hollow ache low in your stomach. You struggled to breathe, huffing through your nose.

He pulled back with a curse, shooting you an irritated look. 'What?'

'Not here,' you said, fumbling to turn off the damn tap. Damn him. He'd barely been here for five minutes and you were aching for him. 'Bedroom.'

His eyes flashed. 'If you want,' he said, shrugging a shoulder. The same one he tossed you over as he turned toward your bedroom. He held you there with a hand planted squarely on your ass. He squeezed. You squawked in indignation, the sound transmuting into a startled gasp when his hand slipped between your thighs. His fingers found warmth and a growing dampness.

'Grimm-!'

'You're wet already?' he asked, voice rough with approval. His hard fingers rubbed you through the soft cloth of your trousers and knickers, teasing your super-sensitive flesh as he marched you inexorably toward the bed. 'That's it, baby.'

You didn't even comment on the pet name, too busy wriggling with helpless pleasure. Your feet kicked at the empty air, hands gripping the back of his belt as you tried desperately to orient yourself. He pressed harder, found a bundle of sensitive nerves, massaging in tight circles. Your spine stiffened, arching you upright.

' _Fuck_.' He snarled in approval, hauling you off his shoulder and tossing you down on the bed. The mattress was soft, welcoming your sudden weight without protest. He stood at the end, blazing blue eyes devouring the sight of you sprawled on the bed, waiting for him. You licked your dry lips. He tracked the movement, eyes narrowing, and cursed.

A flicker of _sonido_ and you were pinned to the bed, a wild, grinning Arrancar leering down at you, his eyes full of sinful promises. You threw aside any last scrap of pride and grabbed two handfuls of his hair, pulling him down to your mouth. You needed to fill yourself with him, drown in him. In the time since he'd been gone, you'd woken up in the middle of the night, time after time, hot and shaking with the ghost of dreamt pleasure.

This was real. He was here. Arrogant, annoying, and _here_.

Bliss, caught between soft cotton and heavy male. His hips fell between your thighs, pressing right where you needed it, the length of his erection rubbing agaist your core through his jeans. You dug your feet into the mattress, sighing into his mouth. Kissing. When had he discovered how much he liked kissing? The last two times, it had been a contest for domination, a fight. Now, his tongue slid against yours, his teeth nibbled at your bottom lip, and there was a soft rumbling sound in the back of his throat.

Your toes curled, and you tugged at the back of his jacket, in sensory heaven. Sliding your hands under the white cloth, you felt the ripple of his muscles through his thin black shirt. His spine arched into your touch.

He peeled his lips from yours, only to reapply them under your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as he sucked at the delicate skin.

'Grimmjow...' you murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist. His response was muffled in the crook of your neck, a wordless buzz against your skin. He bit the meat of your shoulder, quite gentle, for him. A nip of marking, claiming. 'Watch the teeth,' you complained.

He lifted his head and bared them at you. 'It ain't my fault you taste good, woman.'

His gaze shifted. Down. Perhaps he was remembering where else he liked your taste. Your stomach clenched with anticipation as he ran possessive hands down your body, over your breasts, culminating at the waistband of your pants. You reached to undo them, but he batted your hands away and did it himself. Your hips lifted to let him skim them off down your thighs, taking your underwear too. They vanished down the side of the bed. He let out a low groan of approval, dragging his fingertips up your thighs, encouraging you to open them.

You could almost see the thought burning behind his eyes. Mine. Mine, mine, mine.

It should have rankled, to be claimed. Your pride as an individual, as an adult, as a shinigami with your own powers (zanpakuto or not), should have been insulted. But...it felt like a lifeline. No-one wanted you in Soul Society; no-one wanted you in Hueco Mundo; only Urahara knew you lived in the human world.

Grimmjow wanted you.

And for now, that was enough.

Without warning, he hooked his arms around your thighs and buried his head between your legs. You hissed in surprise, back bowing off the bed. His tongue was a line of fire as he licked a broad streak up the centre of your sex. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs. He groaned in satisfaction, the sound oddly startling, resonant, from the centre of your body.

The edges of his mask bit at your hip as he licked, nibbled, and sucked your clit into the wet heat of his mouth with a grunt. He was animalistic, sloppy, and enthusiastic to please. It was a point of pride now. You were his, and he'd have you writhing and panting and screaming his name.

The upshot of it was a white-hot, thigh-trembling, toe-curling orgasm, with his long fingers flexing and curling inside you, his lips sealed tight around your clit, your thighs clamped around his head. He shot you a dark look at that, and pinned your hips to the bed. You hardly noticed, your muscles clenched tight as fists, your skin dewy with sweat.

You undulated against him, straining, as a ripple of heat seemed to pass through you. Your limbs unclenched in its wake. Your eyes opened, glazed from the climax; you looked down. A strong suck sent a fresh bolt of pleasure through you. He was _still going._

'Grimmjow, stop...' you whined, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling. He shook you off, only to dive back in with dragging laps of the flat of his tongue. Before long, your head was canted back on the pillow, your lips parted, eyes half closed. The over-stimulation made you twitch and whimper, until another, weaker, orgasm shuddered through your body.

Only then did he pull away with a self-satisfied lick of his lips.

His grin was sharp, pleased. He sat on his haunches to unbuckle his belts, his gaze tracing the sweat-limned lines of your body. Totally bare from the waist down, your tank top pushed above your breasts, your hair sprawled on the pillow and across your flushed face. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath.

Clothing rustled, and then skin met skin. His chest -hard, scarred, muscular- pressed against you as he pulled you up against him, sliding you onto his lap, onto the rigid length of his cock. A moan left your lips.

'That's it,' he praised, nipping at your jaw. He grabbed your ass and lifted you a few inches, before letting you sink down. ' _Fuck_ , kitten. Moan for me.'

It was only too easy to obey. He manhandled you with ease, lifting your sated body up and down himself, leaving him glistening with your arousal. You kissed his smirking mouth, pushing your tongue against his, completing the circle of connections that begun below.

'Grimm...'

When had he learned restraint? Your mind puzzled it over in the slow haze of building pleasure. He wasn't fucking toward a climax like the last two times. _He knows he's got all the time he wants_ , you realised with a shiver. He could explore you and torture you all night long if he wanted, because no-one was hunting him, or you, and there would be more nights after this if he stuck around-

It was that thought that sent you over the edge again. A premonition of hot nights and lazy afternoons to come. Pun not intended. You clung to his neck, crying out your release as your insides tightened and rippled around him. His fingers dug hard into your ass.

'So damn... _nng_...' The last of his sentence was lost in a strangled moan.

He let you fall onto your back and leaned over you, braced on his outstretched hand. He nudged himself back inside, until his hips lie flush with yours. His head hung low, eyes electric blue, staring down at you as he drove into you with short, hard jerks of his pelvis. Each thrust was like a bolt through your highly-strung nerves.

Low grunts and pants filled the room, turning the air hot and damp between the pair of you. The bed creaked as he eagerly fucked you into the mattress. He grabbed your thigh and hauled it up over his broad shoulder, sinking himself deeper inside your body. Three hard thrusts and-

With a wild snarl, he threw back his head, back stiffening under your hands. His cock jumped and twitched inside you, filling you in a hot, wet rush. A shiver ran down his spine. He collapsed on top of you, warm and sweaty and heavy. His head nuzzled into your neck.

You lay there a few moments, glistening with sweat, pulse pounding in your ears. He rolled back his hips and slid out. Your nose wrinkled at the last twinge of pleasure. His hair stuck to your cheek as he lifted his head and stole a lazy, sloppy kiss.

'Get off,' you protested. 'Too heavy.'

He scoffed at you, but flopped over on his side. If you were hoping to cool down, worse luck, because he dragged you against him, running a possessive hand down your naked side. Hot breath brushed against the side of your face. He traced the tip of your ear with his tongue, then nibbled.

'Miss me, baby?'

You stared at him in disbelief, then gave his head a little push. 'S-shut up.'

A low, throbbing growl started in his throat as he buried his nose in your neck and inhaled. He threw a leg over yours, trapping you in his long limbs. You realised, with a start, what the sound was.

'Are you _purring_?'

He raised his head. 'Fuck, no!'

'Liar.'

'Shut up,' he growled, eyes flashing. 'Or I'll throw your zanpakuto back in the shithole I found it in.'

Surprise cut through the post-coital haze. You stared. 'You found-'

'Yeah. It's with that weird Urahara guy,' Grimmjow grumbled, his voice gaining an edge as his eyes trailed down your naked body. His hand on your side moved with purpose, sliding up to cup your breast. 'Now, _c'mere_.'  


End file.
